Accursed
by pansymoomalfoy32
Summary: AU S5. Spike doesn't have a sudden realization that he loves Buffy. Ethan Rayne summons a force of chaos that leaves Sunnydale's citizens, human and demon, reeling from the negative backlash. At first, no one realizes the events are different from regular Hellmouth activity. But what's with all the snow globes? It's almost Halloween, not Christmas… Buffy/Spike
1. Chapter 1

Accursed: meaning under a curse; doomed; ill-fated.

Disclaimer going forward: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1

For Ethan Rayne, Sunnydale is the land of opportunity. It's been in this quietly teeming little 'burg that his most truly spectacular attempts to bring the chaos out from the ether have occurred. But none have ever been this promising.

The hardest part is over, the summoning and severing. All that's left is the clean-up.

It sits on the top of a hill in a clearing. A coven of witches surround it. It is a boulder-sized severed head. Dried gore splatters across the bottom of the severed neck stump, and a hundred plucked out eye sockets hollowly rest on the surface of the head. Each eye has been replaced with a peacock feather.

The giant's name was Lochan and he's the most beautiful thing Ethan's ever seen.

Even with the head decapitated, the peacock feathers shift around in imitation of eyes crazily taking in the scene. Lochan's mouth, gnashed teeth and lolling tongue, fall open and snap shut. So, decapitated but not dead.

"Light 'im up, ladies," Ethan says cheerily. The circle of witches shift, revealing hands tattooed with the slanting H, the Hagalaz mark. It's one of Ethan's personal favorites. It denotes crisis and radical change. Change, constant flux, the ever-loved chaos, is Ethan's aim tonight. Clasping hands, the witches murmur indiscernibly at first, then louder and louder until the blood stops flowing and the fires grow. A horrible low groaning screech erupts from Lochan, the newly decapitated creature's mouth, as he's set aflame.

Suddenly, one witch gasps and breaks the circle of hands to clutch her chest. Her hood falls back revealing a slim grandmotherly woman. Her eyes are full black, still surrendered to the dark magic from the earlier summoning. One after another, each coven member breaks from the destruction spell and falls to their knees.

Ethan's blood soaked fingers tighten on the grimoire in his hands as he surveys his downed coven. In their midst, Lochan's head smolders, streaked black with ash, but still intact. The delicate fronds of the peacock feathers are also still intact. And, too, those damning all-seeing eyes marked on each feather, bright blue and unblinking. By all means, those certainly should have perished in the fire.

"Well, up and finish it, then." The words have barely left his mouth when every one of the hundred green and blue peacock feathers begin to tremble violently. Suddenly, all of the feathers detach themselves and fly about in a frenzy, then shoot off in different directions, dispersing beyond where the eye can see.

"What in all seven hells just happened?" a younger coven member chokes out around her own ragged breaths.

Ethan stares with mouth agape at the dark horizon where the last of the feathers had vanished.

"Ooooh," Ethan said with eyes strangely fearful. "Bad luck." But his grin could rival a hyena's. 

Buffy kicks at the fallen leaves in her path as she starts out her nightly patrol. Alone. Which was honestly how she preferred it. Nobody to get in her way…or ummm…to split the focus of the team. Be a burden. Not that her friends were! At all! In any way, shape, or form! Because without her friends she would've so been crispy fried Buffy forever ago. But for the most part, Willow, Xander, Giles, they had a part they played in each conflict and they were able to support her without her feeling even half the angst she felt over…ah shoot…

Riley. Uh oh. Where were all the monsters waiting to get their faces beat in to distract her from her post-heart surgery, kinda ex-boyfriend?

"No worries Slayer, I cleared out this section. You can sleep safe in your beddie bye tonight."

Ah. We have a winner.

"Spike. You've just ensured that I take my time with this graveyard. Like I trust you to do my job."

"That's not what you said when I coached you through poker night last Thursday."

Buffy points her nose up in the air to somehow look down at him from her shorter vantage point.

"Doesn't count. Poker is icky, and smells like beer, and the players lie. You're good at all those things," Spike snorts his laughter, "but you aren't winning any patrol awards."

He rolls his bright blue eyes. "When are you going to let that go? Christ Slayer."

"Tch. When are _you_ gonna stop letting demons go when you 'patrol'?"

"Easy. When they've paid up their debt to me. I've got needs to see to you know."

Buffy makes an admittedly immature barfing noise in her mouth, then spins around and marches off to check for disturbed gravesites. Annoyingly, she feels Spike follow just back and to her left. In her blind spot, which he knows intimately well. Being mortal enemies and all.

Spike is humming some upbeat rock tune, bopping out loud, using his stake to drum the beat on passing gravestones.

Buffy spins to face him, hands on her hips. "Hey, disrespectful much?"

Spike pauses, confused until he follows her disparaging eye to his makeshift drumstick. He scoffs at her like he's been saving up every ounce of disbelief he's ever felt in a hundred plus years for a moment like this. Drama vamp. "Oh puh- _lease_. You were painting your sodding nails on the late Mr. Hedgesmith's gravestone just a few nights ago."

Ohhhh yeah. Mortal enemies here. That's the hellmouth for you. And oops. She forgot about that little turquoise sparkle incident. Cheeks pink and mouth set in a more resolute line than before, Buffy sets out again. Spike resumes humming.

"Go away," Buffy grouches over her shoulder, like she's done so often over the past weeks since Adams' fall.

"Nope!" And always the same response. Spike was the annoying stray, fed once, who never left them alone. It baffled them all at first that he was always around, even helping out occasionally for no other apparent reason then, _"why the hell not."_ It was Anya who put a finger to it at last.

"Living like a human after living like a demon for so long is boring and lonely. He probably just wants something to do and someone to talk to. Maybe there is a butcher shop he could offer his services to. Test the blood or something."

Buffy doubted that if boredom and loneliness were Spike's issue, then that would be the solution. But the very idea traitorously took root in the back of her mind, tempering lots of even the most trying interactions with Spike. _Lonely._ Spike?

Wait, where the hell was he?

A snap and a death gurgle sounds behind Buffy. Gritting her teeth, she slowly turns to glare at Spike who is cheerfully brushing his hands together over the horned corpse of whatever demon he just killed. He looks satisfied with himself. Not lonely or needing the company of others in the slightest. What need, when he had himself? Buffy huffs at the thought. Hearing her, Spike looks over with a smug closed mouth grin that lifts his cheeks. His soulless killer eyes are both pleased and somehow slyly expectant. Waiting for her reaction. Which, Buffy supposes, he wouldn't get from a night out alone. Lonely. Hmm.

"Next one is mine," she says.

"You were almost that ones," Spike sneers, placing an unlit cigarette between his lips. "What clouds are your valley girl brains in tonight?"

Oh, just on whether or not Spike was lonely and if she felt empathetic enough to give a shit.

"Riley," Buffy tries to graciously deflect. Spike stops at the cemetery gate with her to look at her with curious brows. Wait, what did she just say now? "REALLY," she covers, badly. "Really, none of your business."

Spike guffaws, incredulous. "Uh huh. Right." He pauses, and Buffy waits for the almost inevitable verbal smack down. "Well, I'm off if you've got things handled here." Oh, thank god.

"I'm handling. All handle here." Spike is snickering now. "Shut it. Also, Xander says you have to bring chips to the next game night since you ate all of his last time."

"Fuck that! What am I, Mother Theresa?" Spike saunters off still amused. But Buffy is pretty sure he will bring some kind of snacky item to the weekly game nights Xander began last spring after the first slayer dream share. The games Spike somehow insinuated himself into, the pest. And she's pretty sure he can be bullied into sharing said snacky item as long as it wasn't vampirey or gross, like the jalapeños he ate straight out of the jar the Texas Hold 'Em night. She's pretty sure because she, Dawn and Tara have managed it before. Well, Tara didn't bully him that first time. Or any time. Cuz that's just how the Wiccan rolled. Spike just gave Tara some of his hot wings vamp pro bono or something.

Something whips by Buffy's face, whistling as it sails off across the street and around the corner. A bird? It would have to be, like, a supersonic bird, but still. It almost looked like a feather.

She stares after it a moment then shrugs. "Huh."

And she's thinking about Riley again. Riley who is familiar with supersonic birds of the take-him-away-to-regular-demon-fighting-soldier-outpost-with-all-the-speed-of-a-fighter-jet variety. Or whatever those planes were. She'd never been real good with the military lingo, even after all those months with Riley. Despite the ending they can both clearly see coming for the remains of their relationship, she feels more relieved than anything. Which makes her feel guilty. Which makes her feel mad. Which is why she is on patrol duty right now, to vent her anger.

Buffy looks around at the deserted and relatively quiet night, sighs, and heads back for her dorm with Willow. Freaking Spike, killing all her freaking fun… 

The next morning, Xander and Anya stroll arm in arm to the Magic Box, armed with plenty of coffee and donuts. The sun has just begun lightening the sky. This used to be the time of day Xander didn't even know existed. In high school, very early mornings were to be avoided and slept through at all costs. Since he'd become a bona fide carpenter, pre-dawn mornings were just a day in the life. He found they were actually very refreshing. New day, new possibilities. Xander keeps his eye on the prize these days. No more gloomy basement-dwelling, or jobless, hopelessness for him. His work as a contract carpenter led to an apprenticeship to become a journeyman carpenter, something that will rapidly advance his skills and paygrade over the next 3 years. As weird as it seems, the Xan-man has become the man with a plan.

It's a damn good feeling.

Anya is chattering about the new fall inventory that will be coming in after the weekend. Xander listens to the tones of her voice, feels the familiar warmth of her at his side. Being with Anya is a damn good feeling too.

"…and I'm thinking that we could market to the ignorant human demographic and put up cheesy, tasteless Halloween décor. Humans go for that kind of things, right? I _am_ a little worried that it will drive away our classier customers, but surely they'd understand that we have to make money."

"I think that's assumed, Ahn. What does Giles think?"

"Why?"

Xander chuckles. "Remember, Giles? The owner of the Magic Box? Probably likes to be in on the decisions once in awhile."

"Oh. I guess he could state his opinion and then we'll do it my way. It's a waste of time, though. He almost always defers to my business sense." Anya lets go of him and shifts the coffee to one arm so she can unlock the shop.

"Riiiight. Well, as long as you defer to his customer service sense, it should all work-"

They halt in the open doorway of the Magic Box.

Crouched on the ground by the register counter, is Ethan Rayne. Startled, he stands abruptly.

He's wearing a rumpled suit that is soaked across the front with brackish blood. His eyes are wild. He's clutching a peacock feather in his hand.

"Hey!"

Xander drops the donuts and goes after him at a dead run. Ethan is faster, crashing past a table of stacked merchandise and hurtling out the side service door. He's halfway down the street before Xander makes it out the door behind him. Xander gives chase down the street, but when he rounds the corner after Rayne, there's no sight of him.

Panting, Xander bends to rest his hands on his knees. "Damn it!" This wasn't good. What the hell was Ethan Rayne doing in Giles' magic shop? Better check for booby traps…oh shit! Anya!

Way too much running later, Xander bursts into the shop. "Anya!" She looks up at him, puzzled.

"What? Did you catch that guy?"

"No, he got away. Are you ok?" Anya nods and looks at him like he's crazy.

"Anya. That was Ethan Rayne. Of the cursed Halloween costumes and band candy Ethan Rayne?"

Her mouth forms an 'o' of understanding. "Oh, that warlock frienenemy of Giles'. Thank you for elaborating. I dislike when you people assume I'm caught up on all of your drama."

Xander moves to the phone. Scooby meeting before the sun is fully up on a Saturday? Buffy is gonna love this…


	2. Chapter 2

Accursed Chapter 2

"So let me get this straight." Buffy leans back against her chair and then immediately leans forward to the table again when the mid-morning light slants straight into her eyes. "Ethan Rayne was in the shop, we don't know why, and he got away." Xander nods. Anya speaks up from behind the Magic Box counter, sounding muffled as she digs through the shelves.

"Nothing is missing. He had something in his hand when he left, but it wasn't from here."

"Looked like a feather pen or something," Xander adds.

Willow is quietly updating Tara on the evils of Ethan Rayne at the table with Buffy.

Giles paces in the background, face grim. He says nothing. Buffy notices that her Watcher always clams up whenever Ethan's around. It's like he thinks that by not talking about Ethan, he can disassociate himself from the man and their past.

Buffy knows that sort of thing just isn't possible.

She takes pity on Giles and speaks up, drawing everyone's attention away from his frantic pacing.

"We'll just have to keep an eye out for him. He's always causing all sorts of weird trouble. We follow the trouble and we'll find him."

Giles finally stops. "Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary on your patrols, Buffy?"

"Nope." She pops the 'p' exaggeratedly. "Just Spike stealing my kills again. Regular vampy, occasional demony kills." Xander eyes her.

"You know, Buff, ever since that first Slayer thing, you talk about patrolling differently." She frowns.

"I do?" Willow turns from Tara to nod at Buffy.

"You kind of do. More 'hunt and kill' and less 'ew it's muddy out,' if you know what I mean."

Buffy scrunches her nose. "Not really following, Wills. Mud still rates 'ew' status with me."

Giles interrupts, "Buffy is simply more in touch with her Slayer side now. Of course, she takes patrolling more seriously. But let's stay on the point, shall we. Until we have sorted out exactly what Ethan is doing in Sunnydale, in the Magic Box, no less, keep close to one another. Separately, we are an easier target for whatever mischief he has gotten up to this time."

"Yeah," Willow chimes in. "It'd sure stink to get turned into a Fyarl demon again, wouldn't Giles?" He glares at her for the unpleasant reminder. Willow grins back nervously, "ah, sorry Giles."

"Will has a point," Buffy says. "Ethan got us so turned around last time that I almost slayed my own Watcher. We have to be careful." Xander groaned.

"I wish we could just—"Anya gasped and leaned over the counter to slap a hand across Xander's mouth.

"Xander! Honestly, what have I said about the 'W' word? Talk about being careful, you _know_ there's no telling who could be listening. Words and wishes have intent!"

"Sorry, Ahn," Xander says, muffled by her palm. He moves it and tries again. "Ethan Rayne is a never-ending problem for us. I was just gonna say that it's too bad Riley couldn't call in that favor to get him hauled off to prison."

Buffy's gaze drops to the table at the mention of her ex. That had been just another example of a situation that made Riley feel powerless and out of his league. Watchers turning into demons. Humans using the dark arts. It hadn't been the final straw in their relationship, but it had been the final straw for Riley on the Hellmouth. He was sick and tired of feeling useless. When Graham approached him with the offer to go to South America to fight demons, Riley practically leapt at the chance. Or he would've, if he hadn't been confined to bed rest after his heart surgery. Once he healed up he would be gone. When he told Buffy, they'd just stared at one another in a silence reminiscent of the morning after the Gentlemen. Their relationship, already strained and unhappy, wasn't going to survive long distance and they both knew it. Buffy had asked him to let her know the day he left so she could say goodbye…and he simply agreed with her.

She hasn't visited him since. It's still too strange and painful.

Xander grimaces, "Sorry, Buff."

She doesn't even care. That's just Xander. Foot meet mouth. "It's ok. Point is, he's still around. Heck, the Fyarl thing wasn't even that long ago. For all we know he didn't even leave town. Giles, is there any way he can go to like a magical person prison or something? I'd rather catch him _before_ the craziness this time and send him away forever, if possible."

Giles removes his glasses and rubs the bridge between his eyes. "There are certain magical societies…some covens that would be useful in controlling him. The problem is, he is notorious in mystic circles for his antics. Anyone with any decency wants to put a stop to him, but many are hesitant to take him on for fear of the trouble he brings." Giles looks around the room. All eyes, his Slayer's eyes are on him, looking for a solution. Still needed. A good feeling. But they and Buffy, nearly full adults themselves…someday answering questions like this would fall to them. He makes a mental note to introduce Willow and Tara to as many benevolent magical societies as he can over the next year or two. The young women would make fantastic resources for Buffy as links to the magical realm, even more so than they already were.

"I'll make some calls," he murmurs.

Willow adjusts the small TV they had insisted Giles unearth from his flat and bring to the work area of the Magic Box. Mostly, it's used for the weather and the news, as inaccurate as it is most of the time. Still, sometimes it gives them tips for strange activity in Sunnydale.

The news reports are on world news when they tune in. Elections, blah, blah, political tension, yadda yadda…

"Oh no!" Tara says mournfully. Willow twists to look at her girlfriend over her shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

"Look. All those zoos, the peacocks have all died." Tara was right, the news camera panning to show zoo staff from all different locations around the world, removing the dead birds from their keeps.

"That's so sad. I wonder what happened?" Tara murmurs to herself. Willow sits back on her heels in front of the television.

"… _early reports indicate a new strain of bird flu, Karen. We will update the public as we get our information."_

Back in the shop Anya asks Xander and Buffy to help move a heavy display table closer to the customer entrance of the room. While they do so, Giles walks over to Tara and Willow and watches the news switch to local coverage.

" _Sunnydale residents are being warned to exercise caution on any recreational use of the woods this weekend. The bodies of two hikers were found this morning by the old Miller's Woods park entrance, just a few miles outside Sunnydale University. Both bodies have been drained of all blood and show teeth and claw marks around areas of missing flesh. Authorities suspect a predator has left its usual hunting grounds and made its way into the local area. No word yet on possible identity of this animal, but folks, be warned. It ate the flesh off the bodies…"_ Buffy has moved back over to the TV by now. Giles makes a perplexed noise.

"Blood drained and flesh eaten?" Buffy makes a face.

"So, not a vamp then?"

"No, no…perhaps…"

Willow looks disturbed. "Could it really just be some big animal? Not even supernatural?"

Giles looks unconvinced. "Perhaps. The drained blood is still alarming."

Xander calls back, "What if vamps got them and then something else came by for leftovers?"

"We can't be sure without checking in person. I'll see if I can view the bodies myself. If I leave now, I may be able to make it before the relevant evidence is gone." Giles grabs his tweedy jacket and makes to leave the shop.

"Don't forget to watch out for Ethan!" Willow calls after him.

"Oh, believe me. I won't." Giles says darkly, before exiting.

The shop is quiet, but for the low buzz of the TV in the background.

Anya rips open one her merchandise boxes and starts arranging items on the display table. Willow turns off the TV and joins Tara in helping Anya unpack the boxes.

Xander pulls Buffy aside with an apologetic look on his face. "Hey, sorry about the Riley mention earlier—"

"Forget it, Xand. I know you didn't mean anything by it," Buffy says. Xander looks relieved.

"Have you heard anything about when he leaves?"

"No." She looks away. Xander grimaces knowingly.

"Have you heard anything at all? Or seen him recently?" Buffy looks back at him a little guiltily. Yep, that was their Buffy. Slaying monsters and cutting down massive egomaniacs? Easy. Standard relationship communication? Run, run for the hills…

"You oughta clear the air before he goes, Buffy." Xander says gently. "Who knows when you'll see him again?"

"Yeah. I get it Xander. That's kind of the whole problem." Buffy's frowning hard at the floor. Xander hesitates, at a loss for words as he processes her hard tone. He can tell it isn't directed towards him though.

"Euuuurgh!" Willow exclaims at the front of the shop. "What the heck _is_ this?" Buffy and Xander join the others where Willow is turning a snow globe around in her hand. Tara takes it from her and holds it still so that the snow flurries settle. At first, it seems like a typical snow globe scene. Picturesque snowy backyard behind a brick house. Snowman and snow fort covered in glittery sparkles. A little boy playing with his dog amid the snow drifts. But peering closer…

"Oh, gross." Buffy says over Tara's shoulder. Upon closer inspection the viewer can see the bundled up little boy laying on the ground, spread out like he's making a snow angel, the dog's snout nosing into his stomach.

The dog is eating the boy alive. The figurine is too small to make out expressions, but the guts clearly trail out over the boy's coat and cover the dog's face.

"Okay, now that's just disturbing." Xander says making a face. Anya shrugs.

"We received an order of empty snow globes on accident when I ordered the fall décor. When I sent it back, they sent us creepy snow globes instead. I kept them for the Halloween weekend. Look, we have some more." She pulls 2 more out of a smaller box.

The next snow globe is like the first in that it seems normal at first glance. A small town street lined with shops on one side, what appeared to be a university on the other. There were lots of tiny painted people on the sidewalks, the quad, opening the doors to the shops. But one figurine of a woman chasing after a balloon dominates the empty street. Looking closer, it's obvious she is headless.

The balloon is actually her head and the connecting string, her scarf.

Willow shudders. "You think people will actually want to buy these things?"

Anya shrugs. "Aside from the unseasonable snow, I don't see why not." A knocking at the door draws her attention. "Oh! Customers. It's way past time to open. Shoo! It's time to make some money." Willow rolls her eyes at Buffy who grins back wryly. They say goodbye to Xander and Anya and head out of the shop, Xander promising to call if Giles turned up anything urgent.

No one notices the third snow globe scene. This one features a cherry picker with a fully extended basket carrying two men in hard hats that has toppled into power lines. If anyone were to shake the globe, black flakes like electrocuted ash would swirl in the space instead of snow.

Tara and Willow split off from Buffy to head back to the dorms to catch up on schoolwork. Buffy directs her feet towards Revello drive. Stops. Then slowly changes direction until she's walking towards the hospital instead.

Buffy enters the hospital wing Riley stays in with trepidation in her heart. She doesn't know how to do this. Mutual breaking up? Not exactly on the Buffy Summers resume.

She drags her feet the last few steps until she's in front of the door to Riley's room and looks in.

Riley is up and dressed in his old commando gear. He's looking out the street-facing window, his back to Buffy. The room is neat, sterile. Ready for the next patient.

Buffy makes a noise in the back of her throat. Riley turns, surprised to see her, then resigned. His familiar and beloved features form into a wry grin.

"I'm glad you came by. I was just practicing what I was going to say to you on the phone when I called you." Buffy smiles sadly.

"Still gotta rehearse, huh?"

Riley shuffles his feet. "Yeah. I guess I just never know what to say. I..I care about you so much. I don't want to not be together, but…"

"You don't want to be here." Buffy finishes. He is quiet again. He swallows and looks at her with that same mix of affection, longing, and resignation that always makes Buffy feel anxious to fix something.

"Be safe," she blurts out, voice suddenly hoarse. He nods quickly, too much.

"I will. You watch your back, Buffy. It worries me that the only one patrolling with you these days isn't Giles or your friends, but Hostile 17."

"He hates when you call him that."

"That's why I'll never stop calling him that."

She shakes her head. "Forget about Spike, he just hangs around cuz he's bored. I can take care of myself, you know."

"I do know," Riley says sadly. Tears suddenly well up in Buffy's eyes. Why couldn't she ever get this right? What was wrong with her?

Riley moves to embrace her. She accepts it, feeling something settle within her like the last grains of sand in an hourglass.

This is goodbye.

On the way home, not to the dorms but to her mother's house, Buffy passes a construction zone. Her head is bowed and her thoughts are heavy and she sees but barely registers the cherry picker with the extended basket carrying two men in hard hats to a snapped power line. They argue over something above her head, the basket raising and lowering, in jerky stop motions. The men's voices fade behind her as she turns the corner towards Revello Drive.


	3. Chapter 3

Accursed Chapter 3

Dawn hears the front door close sometime after lunch. It's her sister, tossing her jacket on the couch and moving past her without saying a word to go straight up the stairs to her room.

She hears Buffy's bedroom door close even from the dining room. Dawn thinks about going up and warning Buffy to be quiet since their mom had just laid down in _her_ room with a headache…but all is silent upstairs.

Shrugging, Dawn crinkles up her Cheetos bag and decides to go outside for the rest of the afternoon. Bunch of cranky old fogies, sleeping the day away at home.

Ever since Dawn found out that Buffy was the Slayer, Buffy had taken it upon herself to lay down all sorts of restrictive laws on Dawn like she was suddenly _Mom_ or something. Of course, there for a little bit, Dawn knew about the slaying gig before their mom did so Buffy had been the authority on the subject.

And naturally, once Joyce had realized what true dangers lurked the dark streets of Sunnydale, a nighttime curfew had instantly been put into place. Dawn wasn't to go anywhere by herself after the sun went down.

But that was still hours away from now. She's fourteen for Pete's sake. Dawn pulls on her super cute black and neon purple sneakers that are all the rage at school. She is currently the only one with the black/purple combo of this shoe style in her class. She's pretty proud of them.

Dawn admires them for a moment longer before straightening up and flouncing out of the house. She's halfway down the driveway before she smacks herself on the forehead and runs back in to leave her mom a note. There. Now, where to go, where to go…

Buffy emerges from her room around dinner time and groggily moves to the kitchen. Joyce is pulling something out of the oven that smells delicious when Buffy walks in.

Her mom smiles at her and Buffy can't help but notice how pale she looks.

"So you are home. I saw your coat. Have you been up in your room this whole time?"

"Yeah," Buffy says shortly and changes the subject. "You feeling okay, Mom? You look pretty tired."

"I feel fine, dear. In fact, I just took a nice nap earlier. I had a headache, but it's long gone now."

Buffy frowns. "More headaches? That's been happening a lot hasn't it?" Joyce moves around the counter to set up the plates.

"Oh, I don't know." Joyce starts spooning out the casserole. "It comes and it goes. Say, have you seen your sister since you got home?"

Changing the subject may be a hereditary trait in the Summers women, Buffy observes. She lets it go for now.

"Nah. Well, I think she was stuffing her face in the other room when I first got home." Joyce frowns out the kitchen window.

"She left a note saying that she was going for a walk, but I don't know when that was. It's already starting to get dark. Buffy, would you…?"

Buffy's face has tightened with worry and annoyance. "Yeah, I'm on it." She goes to grab her coat, and after a moment's consideration, her axe. Her mom follows her to the front door.

"Did you hear about those bodies in the woods, Buffy?"

"Yeah, this morning."

"I never got the chance to warn Dawn about it. She doesn't ever watch the news, I hope she didn't go near any forest areas." Joyce's brow is knit with tension. Buffy watches her mom reach up to massage her temples.

"It'll be okay, Mom. I'll find her."

"I'm gonna kill her."

Moving quickly around the neighborhood and Dawn's usual haunts had turned up squat. It was full dark by now and no sign of Dawn. She knew better. Her brat of a sister _knew_ better. Dawn couldn't have picked a worse time to do this. Ethan Rayne in town, weird monsters eating people in the woods…

Buffy is feeling a healthy mixture of fear and anger by this point. She also thinks she might need some back up. Her friends could be any number of places at this time in the evening, but Buffy tries to think of the closest one most likely to be reached…

And realizes that, by far, the closest possible help is probably in Restfield Cemetery.

She scowls and redirects herself to Spike's crypt.

"…and he's, like, a REALLY good artist too. He comes up with the coolest stuff."

Funny, that almost sounded like her missing sister. In Spike's crypt.

"Sounds like a complete wanker."

And hey! If it isn't Spike. What. The. Hell.

Buffy shoves open Spike's door and storms in. Spike is sitting cross-legged on a sarcophagus, fiddling with something and Dawn is slouched in the ratty armchair with her legs swinging over one arm.

They both snap their heads in Buffy's direction at her noisy entrance.

Dawn rolls her eyes, "Geez Buffy, lumber much?" Spike laughs.

"Yeah, she does do that doesn't she?"

"Dawn!" Buffy snaps, her worry-to-anger ratio heavily featuring the latter. "It's way past dark, what the hell are you doing here?" Dawn sits up quickly.

"How past dark?" Buffy glares at her. "Um, I kind of lost track of time. Also, I just figured Spike could walk me home if I missed curfew." Spike, who had been sitting back enjoying the byplay suddenly straightens up.

"You what?" He and Buffy exchange a disgruntled look at their simultaneous response. Spike puts down the twisted hunk of metal he had been messing with and Buffy puts her hands on her hips. Dawn's jaw starts to jut out stubbornly.

"Why are you so mad? You wouldn't care if I was with Willow or Xander." Buffy sputters for a moment in disbelief, then regains momentum.

" _Spike_ , is not Willow or Xander. And this isn't a house where a vamp would need an invite to get in. It's a crypt!" The ick factor is clear from Buffy's tone. "And you didn't tell Mom or me where you were going! _And_ do you have any idea what kind of crazy dangerous stuff is running around Sunnydale right now?"

"No," Dawn mutters sullenly at the same time Spike says, "What's running around?"

Dawn gets up. " _Sorry,_ ok? I want to be able to visit Spike sometimes too though. And besides, he can protect me from vampires and monsters and stuff."

Spike does a double take. "Hey now! And you're just going to assume that? Evil here! Big Bad!" Dawn stares at him unconcernedly.

"Yeah. You like me. You wouldn't let me get eaten."

Spike scoffs. "Probably wouldn't eat you if I had half a chance, but 'like' is pushing it."

Buffy shakes her head fiercely. "So not the point! Dawn, you know the rules and you broke them. Plus, you worried Mom." Low blow, but what are siblings for?

Dawn looks guilty for a second but rallies. "There are exceptions to the rules, like for sleepovers or visiting people in the know, like Willow, or Xander and Anya. Why not Spike?"

Spike's head swings back and forth between the sisters. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"No!" Buffy and Dawn say without looking away from each other. Spike sighs dramatically.

"Does this spat have to play out in my crypt?" He's ignored this time.

"What's your damage? It's not like you don't hang out with Spike just as much as you do everyone else." Buffy freezes internally at this accusation. Was that true? Between patrols and information exchanges and the random get-togethers that Spike crashes…damn. Maybe she does spend a lot of time with Spike. Dawn goes on ruthlessly. "You guys are totally friends, I don't know why you pretend you aren't."

Buffy and Spike awkwardly don't look at each other. What a terrible thing to say about a couple of mortal enemies. Former or not. Seriously, messed up. Mostly, because there's a ring of truth to it.

"He comes to the house sometimes and to game nights and stuff. Just like everybody else." Buffy closes her eyes.

"Yeah, he does. To make off with our poker money and eat all the food." She glares over at Spike and he smirks back unapologetically. The mooch.

Buffy groans suddenly, just wanting this whole, awful day to be over. "Forget it, let's just go home. Mom's got dinner waiting." Spike hops up off the stone slab.

"I'll walk you." Buffy gives him a withering look. Spike's scarred eyebrow shoots up. "What? Night's young. 'Sides, I wanna talk shop."

Oh, right. The crazy and the dangerous she mentioned earlier. He wants the gossip and probably, knowing Spike, more skulls to crack.

Actually, this is a good thing. Maybe Spike knows something about something. He usually seems to have a good finger on the evil pulse of Sunnydale's darker side.

Buffy doesn't dissuade him and Spike gets a cockier jaunt to his step as he ushers a smirking Dawn out of his crypt. The three of them head back towards Revello Drive together.

"So, does Mom feel better?" Dawn asks from Buffy's side. Buffy switches the hold on her axe to her other hand, farther out of reach of Dawn's spastically swinging arms.

"Still headachey." Buffy says. Spike looks over at them from where he's shifted downwind to smoke.

"Joyce is feeling poorly?" Dawn grins at him.

"Sometimes you sound like a grandpa when you talk." Spike looks minorly offended by this.

"Oi, better than a teeny bopper such as yourself."

Dawn giggles. "Yep. Grandpa."

Buffy shakes her head. Spike and Dawn, from practically the moment they met, got on like a house on fire. Even their bickering is underscored with affectionate teasing. Buffy is personally of the opinion that, assertions of geriatricness aside, Spike and Dawn get along so well because they share a maturity level. That good old, 'nananana booboo' mindset.

"She keeps saying she's fine, but she's had headaches for weeks now." Buffy doesn't even know why she's telling him this. Maybe because he seems sincerely interested.

"Hmm. She goin' to see a doctor, then?"

"I don't think so. She avoids going unless it's pretty dire." Dawn watches Buffy and Spike talk with interest, a little smile curling her mouth.

" _Dawn."_ Janice's voice calls from behind her. Dawn stops, surprised and looks back. The streets are dark and empty. Buffy and Spike keep walking, not noticing in their conversation that Dawn has fallen behind.

Dawn looks around uncertainly. That sounded just like Janice. But wasn't Janice supposed to be out of town this weekend? Dawn shakes her head and turns around again.

Only to pull up abruptly. Inches from her, directly in front of her, stands a tall, skinny humanoid creature with scraggly dark hair that tumbles straight from the top of its head down to its feet.

A startled scream catches in Dawn's throat and she goes utterly still, like a frightened rabbit.

The thing shifts and glowing green eyes pin her to the spot. It exhales and glistening teeth as long as Dawn's arms part the hair. Gnarly blackened claws begin to reach for her.

Dawn's scream bursts from her throat, shattering the quiet of the night.

Buffy and Spike whip around at Dawn's bloodcurdling scream. She's several steps behind them and stumbling back further, eyes scrunched closed and arms up in a defensive posture in front of her face.

Buffy rushes to her side and Spike scans the area searching for a threat. But they are alone.

"What? Dawn! Look at me, stop. What is it?"

"Buffy, kill it! It's right there! Oh my god!" Dawn shrieks.

"What? Where?" Buffy and Spike are on full alert now, instinctively boxing Dawn in between them and looking around with narrowed eyes. Buffy's grip on the axe has changed, ready to swing and deal death at a moment's notice.

Dawn looks around too, frantically. "There was a thing, right here, just a second ago. It was gonna grab me!"

Spike's nostrils flare as he tries to scent others besides themselves. Buffy and Dawn's scent reach him as the strongest and most recent in the area. Buffy finally meets his eyes and he shrugs a little.

He doesn't sense anything. She doesn't either. Buffy lowers the axe slowly.

"Dawn, what did it look like?"

"Aren't you going to get it?" Dawn sounds scared and upset. Buffy hates that.

"I don't know what I'm looking for, Dawnie. What did it look like?"

"It was tall and hairy and had creepy eyes and teeth. It was right in front of me! I—I think it said my name." Buffy frowns and glances at Spike again. He gives her a 'don't look at me, I don't know' look.

Buffy puts her free arm across Dawn's trembling shoulders. "Let's get home and talk about it there. Spike and I are going to patrol later anyway. We'll look for it."

Dawn looks up at her with big eyes. "Promise?"

"Promise." If Spike is surprised by his promotion from pest on patrol to patrol partner, he doesn't indicate it.

They hurry back to the house without any further delay.

Joyce shakes her head. "The rules are in place for a reason, Dawn. Do you understand that now? We're lucky nothing worse happened, than a little scare."

The Summers women all sit at the dining room table, their half-finished meals in front of them.

Dawn picks at her plate. "Yeah. I get it." She doesn't meet anyone's gaze.

Spike leans against the doorframe. He dips a piece of cooked chicken into a bowl of tabasco sauce and shoves it in his mouth. Joyce grimaces subtly at him.

"Spike, you can join us at the table if you like," she offers not for the first time.

"Ta, Joyce, but I'd rather stand." Dawn stands up suddenly.

"I'm not really hungry. I think I'm gonna go to my room." She wants to call Janice to find out if she was in town or not.

Dawn feels like a big baby for freaking out so much. Buffy sees monsters every night and jokes about them. Dawn sees her first, non-vampy monster and totally loses her cool. She's embarrassed.

"Ok sweetie." Dawn nods and leaves to load the dishwasher and then race upstairs.

Joyce, Buffy, and Spike eat in silence until they hear her door close.

Joyce sighs and puts down her fork. "So what happened tonight? What did she see?"

Buffy pushes her plate back. "We don't know." Joyce looks puzzled.

"So you didn't see _anything?"_

Spike shakes his head. "Didn't see, smell, or sense. If Slayer wasn't pickin' up anything and _I_ wasn't pickin' up anything…"

"Maybe there wasn't anything there?" Joyce finishes. Buffy looks uncomfortable.

"I don't know. It's not like Dawn to freak out over nothing. She's pretty tough about lots of things." Like seeing Buffy come home bloody and hurt. Vampires. Angelus.

Joyce looks thoughtful. "She's also heard all sorts of horror stories about what you do, Buffy. We've built up the importance of not going out at night pretty high—"

"With good reason." Buffy mutters.

"—and she and that Janice girl just started watching an awful lot of Halloween movies since the beginning of October. Maybe her imagination just ran away from her."

Buffy had kind of been thinking the same thing, but to hear her mom say it out loud, she suddenly feels much more defensive of Dawn. How many times did the strange and wacky happen to Buffy only for her mom to chalk it up to overactive imagination?

"Maybe." Is all Buffy says. She gets up and clears the rest of her and her mom's dishes then jerks her head at Spike to follow her to the kitchen.

Once relatively alone, Spike says, "You don't agree." Buffy purses her lips.

"I think it's worth checking out. Seems unlikely that neither of us would notice anything, I mean, hello, Slayer senses here, but it's getting pretty active, Hellmouth-wise around here lately."

"You mentioned as such." Buffy snatches the chicken and tabasco bowl out of his hands. "Hey! Wasn't done with that!"

"You don't need human food anyway."

"Some gratitude," Spike grumbles as she loads up the dishwasher. "Like I was saying before so rudely interrupted, if there's trouble to be found, I want in. Thought I was gonna blow my brains out this summer. No fun to be had anywhere."

"Yeah, that's Hellmouth summers for ya. Pretty quiet. Look, I'll tell you once we're out of the house. I don't want my mom worrying any more than she already is."

"Alright, then." They head for the front door. Buffy pauses when she sees her mom still in the dining room.

Joyce is standing and gripping the back of her chair, eyes closed and swaying slightly.

"Mom?" Joyce opens her eyes.

"Oh, Buffy, I thought you left already."

Worry blooms in Buffy's stomach again and curls like smoke up to tighten her throat.

"No, we are leaving now. Are you ok?"

"Yes, I just stood up too fast and got a little dizzy. I think I'm gonna have an early night myself." She smiles at Buffy reassuringly.

Spike, who's been watching the conversation with half-hooded eyes, breaks in.

"Should see a doctor, Joyce."

Both Buffy and Joyce stare at him, surprised. Buffy can't believe he just suggested that. Pretty un-Spike like, in her experience, for him to be so serious and free-advice-y. Joyce turns her reassuring smile on Spike.

"I appreciate your concern, Spike, but it isn't a big enough deal to warrant a doctor's visit."

Spike's eyes are so serious, even if his mouth sets in an uncomfortable line. Buffy stares at the unfamiliar cast of his face, unable to look away for some reason.

"Look. Right. I don't wanna make this a thing, but you know…" he visibly struggles for words. "I lived in a time where people got sick and died, that was that. You've got modern medicine at your disposal, why not use it? Isn't it…" he looks between the two women in front of him uncertainly. "It's better to check this stuff early, isn't it? That's what the quacks these days suggest doing?"

Joyce's eyebrows are both high up on her forehead. "Yes. The 'quacks' do say that." Buffy turns to her mom nervously. When Spike said the word 'died,' it echoed in her being ominously like a funeral bell being rung.

"So, you're gonna go, Mom?" Joyce holds up her hands in front of herself to ward them off.

"Alright, I'll think about it. Maybe I'll give our doctor a call and see what he suggests." Buffy feels relief flood through her.

"That sounds good." Spike nods, too.

A little while later after a fruitless patrol, on the way to Giles' apartment, Buffy says to the pavement in front of her, "Thanks for talking to her about that." She feels Spike shrug next to her uncomfortably.

"Don't mention it." Buffy doesn't want to, but she feels like she needs to get this off her chest.

"I mean it. Coming from her own kids, advice like that is hard to take. I think having someone else say it helped."

"I said, don't mention it," Spike growls. She looks over at him, annoyance flaring through her at his tone. His shoulders are hunched and his hands shoved deep in his duster's pockets. What was his deal?

Giles' door looms ahead of them. Buffy faces forward resolutely. Fine. If he wants to be a dick, whatever. She doesn't know why she's even surprised.

"When am I gonna get the low down here, Slayer?"

"When we catch up with Giles." Buffy answers through gritted teeth. She knocks and enters ahead of Spike once she hears the muffled reply from within the apartment.

Behind her, she hears Spike pause, then gust out an unnecessary sigh, before following her inside.


	4. Chapter 4

Accursed Chapter 4

*Some dialogue taken directly from show, like the episode _Lies My Parents Told Me_ among other random places.*

Giles' living room is covered with stacks of books and other papers. It's a mess. He is milling about around the room, flipping through a book and muttering to himself.

"Ah, Buffy, come in, come in. I was able to examine the bodies this morning and…"He cuts himself off, noticing Spike come in behind the Slayer. Giles hurrumphs.

"What is he doing here?" Spike flings himself onto one end of the couch, one of the last uncluttered pieces of furniture.

"Some attitude, Watcher. You'd think we were never flatmates, once upon a time."

"Yes, well, I do my best to block that from my memory." Giles snaps the book shut.

Buffy crosses her arms to clasp her elbows. "Giles, we ran into something weird, earlier. Kinda wanted to ask you about it." Some of the agitation leaks from Giles' frame, noticeably.

"Oh? What was it?"

"We don't know. But first, what did you find out about those bodies in the woods?"

Giles sighs. "Frankly, not enough. I am certain it was supernatural in origin, however. It appears that the blood was completely drained from each body and then half-eaten, directly after. All markings indicate that the same beast fed from both bodies, blood and flesh." He grudgingly appraises Spike. "Have you come across anything like this before?"

Spike stretches his legs out in front of him and flings an arm across the back of the couch. "Nah. Sounds like a predator though. We predators tend to avoid each other unless we're after the same thing. Causes fights, see. So I doubt there was more than one beastie." Giles nods slowly.

"Yes, that seems to be the case here. I did examine the site where the hikers were killed and spoke to the wildlife expert on the scene. He said much the same. Whatever it was seems to walk on two feet, like a man, at least part of the time, and uses very sharp…even serrated claws. My contact was confused about the tracks, though. He said it almost looked like the feet walked one direction, but the toes faced the opposite direction. As if the feet were on backwards." Giles throws his hands up in the air then places them on his hips. "I've been looking into this all day with no real results. I'm afraid I'm going to have to widen my research database."

Buffy winced. "Sounds like research party, funday Sunday?"

Giles rubbed his forehead. "Quite. Now, what was it you saw earlier?"

Buffy bit her lip. "Well, we didn't see it. Dawn did. It spooked her when we were walking home earlier." She describes it to Giles the way Dawn did to her.

Giles looks puzzled. "Hair, down to its feet?"

Buffy nods, "Like Cousin It." She watches Giles grabs a pen to write down everything she describes. "Do you think it could be what ate those hikers?"

"Perhaps. It's hard to tell without further details. If Dawn thinks of anything else she noticed, inform me?" Buffy nods. Giles looks between her and Spike. "You were both present when this happened?"

"Yeah, she'd stayed out after dark so, like parole officers, we were escorting her home," Spike says. Giles narrows his eyes at the vampire for a moment then hums thoughtfully.

"And neither of you saw it, nor sensed it in any fashion?"

"Nope," Buffy affirms.

"Good lord." Giles says. "That's a most unfortunate sign. It will be difficult to track down, no doubt."

"But," Buffy breaks in. "You think she really did see it?" Giles takes off his glasses as if to better focus on Buffy's anxious features.

"I am working under the assumption that she did, as Dawn is hardly the type to lie about these things, and because you rarely bring concerns to me that don't warrant my attention." Buffy relaxes a little and breathes a sigh of relief.

"Right, obviously." She beams at her Watcher, who puts so much faith in her. "Thanks, Giles."

"Not a problem." He sets his glasses back on his nose. "Now, I think it would be wise to gather everyone," he pauses and eyes the clock. "At a reasonable hour tomorrow to look into both of these creatures. And Spike," Giles pins Spike with a look, halting the vampire's progress to Giles' liquor cabinet. "I will _give_ you my best bottle brandy if you unearth the whereabouts of one, Ethan Rayne."

Spike raises an eyebrow, "What, that bloke who turned you Fyarl? He's in town again?" Giles' eyes are very dark.

"Yes. And he has already trespassed in my place of business and done god knows what else. I know you hear things. Keep your ears open for his name."

Spike squints at him. "For your best two bottles?" Giles grits his teeth.

"Yes."

Spike grins. "Well, sure then."

Spike and Buffy leave Giles' soon after. Partway down the road, Spike slows down and nods towards off to the right. "I'll be headin' off to clean up at Willy's then."

Buffy slows with him. "If you hear anything…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He shoots one last mocking grin at her before departing. Buffy watches him go, eyes on the strong lines of his back and shoulders and the tail of the duster flapping at his feet. She hunches her shoulders against the suddenly chill wind and heads home.

Spike returns to his crypt just before sunrise. He's had a surprisingly productive night at Willy's. Demons are unsettled. Something strange is in the air in Sunnyhell, shifting in the shadows. Something unseen and unknown. Spike has plenty to chew on before he takes his info to the Slayer later.

Spike shucks his clothes and crawls into his bed. Stretching long limbs and settling down he lets his thoughts spool out, unchecked.

He was able to stay an unprecedentedly long time at the bar due to a generally uneasy atmosphere. Demons were more interested in sharing horror stories than trying to take the mickey outta Spike for being a traitor. It's a welcome relief. He can't really blame other demons for trying to kill him. If it wasn't his own hide on the line, Spike would definitely endorse the elimination of a traitor.

But what else can he do these days?

Certainly can't hunt humans, unless he's looking for a humiliating death or another incarceration of some kind. Hopefully, the Initiative will rank as the worst of Spike's problems with humans. Thing is, Spike is pretty damn unaccustomed to worrying about humans messing with him.

Spike scowls, thoughts already turning down a familiar path.

Spike hates the chip. He hates how powerless he feels with it, how vulnerable. How close to _victim_ it makes him again, despite leaving that part of himself behind over a century ago.

He misses the freedom, the hunt, the blood. _God,_ he misses the blood.

He misses fucking spontaneity. Spike can't just kill whenever he feels like it, anymore. He can't lash out without first being forced to assess the circumstances. Would doing this or that cause the chip to fire? Existing with caution and deliberation is extremely frustrating to a vamp who has gone without either for so long. Worse, it leaves him with all sorts of empty time to contemplate things. Be introspective.

And these are the kinds of thoughts that plague him.

Spike is a social creature. He was never meant to be alone and he knows it. Happily, he'd kept the company of first his mother, then his new vampire family, and finally just Dru. One by one he's lost his companions. But once Dru left him he was forced to contemplate what an eternity alone would really be like. Immortality is great and all in theory but to go through it alone? No one with whom he could share his triumphs, his frustrations? No familiar presence to ground him through the world's constant changes?

Alone. Unknown and unloved. To Spike, this is the very definition of Hell. It had been same when he lived and breathed.

Drusilla saved him from the mediocrity of humanity. He is forever, _forever_ , indebted to her for that. Moving on from her, actually replacing her in his heart, is unthinkable, and Spike hasn't even once seriously considered it. His sire was his true beginning. His everything. And she would continue to be so until his end.

Drusilla literally made him. More importantly, she made Spike for her own self. He was made for her.

What is he without her? What could he be? What purpose does he serve now? The world, such as it is, makes no sense to Spike without Drusilla.

After he died, almost better than the strength, the fearlessness, the exhilaration of becoming a vampire, was instantly gaining an all-important purpose, a mission for once in his existence. And, amazingly, someone to share it with.

But Drusilla made it cruelly and unquestionably obvious that she was done with him. In the aftermath of Brazil, what did he have left that was his and his alone? Only one thing.

The dance. That deadly waltz. One that could only be properly shared with a Slayer.

And so back to the Hellmouth he went.

Back to Buffy Summers.

But then there came the soldiers and the lab and the thrice damned chip.

So then, instead of an eternity alone with only a glorious death to look forward to, he'd become stuck-powerless and still alone. He railed against his fate. He'd all but drawn a bullseye target over his undead heart for the Slayer to stake by coming to her at her Watcher's house in full daylight. Spike may be one hell of survivor but at that point he'd be lying if he said he didn't have somewhat of a death wish. Of course only a worthy executioner would do, and he would only be dusting on his own terms.

But then, _then_ , that bitch had had the nerve to help him and dismiss him. Like he was nothing. Like he was _beneath_ her.

More furious than ever, Spike threw in with Adam, to regain his freedom and to have the supreme satisfaction of seeing the Slayer struggle, alone thanks to Spikes "help," and die. A perfect way to spit in the face of _her_ insulting "help", her "loyal" companions, her Powers-blessed luck.

Like every other endeavor Spike has undertaken since meeting Buffy Summers, he failed, publicly and spectacularly, while she rallied her forces and won the fucking day.

With Adam gone, the Slayer turned her attention to her personal affairs and Spike was left at loose ends.

Spike had failed to go out in a blaze of glory fighting the Slayer, even with the Gem. He had failed to get the chip removed and he'd failed in his petty second-hand vengeance. And _still_ the Slayer didn't dust him.

What the hell was a vamp to do? Spike sure as hell wasn't leaving town until the chip was out, a prospect that seemed less and less likely as time went on. And all his other plans had fallen through. But, lucky for him, he'd always been adaptable.

Spike realized it was time to carve out a life for himself where he was. He stopped trying to force a confrontation with the Slayer and just let things be. Fixed up his crypt real nice, got his foot in the door with certain sympathetic demon groups. Began more strategically clashing with other demons who would really test his fighting chops. At some point he realized the Slayer and her little minions had their own little gatherings.

That's when things got really weird.

For Spike, humans fall into roughly four possible categories. Food, fun, foe, or fuck. Well…they did before the chip, anyway. Many of the old possibilities are no longer sustainable. And, unfortunately, he happens to know this certain group of humans pretty well. The Watcher, Harris and Anyanka, the Wiccas, Joyce and Dawn…anymore, he doesn't even know how to treat them the way he used to treat other humans. They and the Slayer have become part of Spike's new unlife in Sunnyhell. And what an unnatural existence it has become.

Spike meets his demon buddies for poker nights. He meets the Scoobies for game nights. Spike spots Clem and his ilk in bar fights and the Slayer and hers on patrol. He's up on the gossip in the Bolarg community and he's up on the gossip at Dawn's school.

New fucking world order. Spike isn't ever going to be happy with the equal ground he's been forced onto with humans, but he isn't wasting his time bitterly shaking his fist at the Powers anymore either. And the more time that passes, the less he actually minds.

Spike is somewhat ashamed to admit he's anticipating fighting the new slew of beasties that summer's end apparently brings. It's a novel experience, battling from this side of the fence. And it's an exhilarating experience battling by the Slayer's side.

That business with the nibblet, while odd, is also promising for Spike. Buffy is now showing every sign of hunting with him as an equal from here on out.

He hasn't had someone to hunt with properly since Drusilla's strongest days. Or the early days with Angelus, even. He misses that, too. Didn't even know how much until Buffy and he started doing…whatever it is they are doing. Spike doesn't need to put a word to it. He relishes defying convention, after all.

Spike groans and flops face first into his pillow. Damn! Sometimes he almost wishes he hadn't run Harmony off, stupid bint though she was. Times like this all he really wants is some good, hard physical activity to distract him from his thoughts and to help him sleep. For all of Harm's faults…well she was all faults, really. Physical is the only she'd really had going for her…anyway, Spike is tired of forcing his thoughts to quiet on his own. Even now, so long after Dru dumped him, it's hard for him. He is so used to focusing his whole being on someone else. Alone in his crypt, all Spike has are his circling thoughts.

Spike growls into his bedding, then, cursing to himself, jumps up to grab a bottle of the best sleep-aid he has on hand. Reliable old Jack…

Buffy dreams.

 _She sits up in her bed. It's the middle of the night and freezing cold. Even in the dark, she can see snow falling outside her window. She gets up and goes across the hall to her mother's room and pushes the door open. Joyce is sitting up in a hospital bed wearing a hospital gown. Her head is wrapped in gauze._

 _Spike is next to her in an armchair pulled up close to the bed, holding one of her mom's hands with both of his. Joyce fusses with a vase on the bedside table._

" _Oh, William, these are wonderful! I love them." The vase is full of rolled up parchment covered in scribbles._

" _It's just scribbling."_

" _Nonsense. It's magnificent." Spike leans forward._

" _Honestly? You really think so?"_

 _Joyce smiles benignly at him and pats his hand. "Oh yes. You've a rare gift."_

 _Buffy interrupts. "What's his gift?" Spike doesn't turn at the sound of her voice, his face in shadow. Joyce looks up._

" _The same as yours, dear. Death is your gift, and his too. You make it with your hands."_

 _Buffy frowns. "I'm not an animal."_

" _No," Spike says turning to look at her. His eyes are plucked out and have been replaced with two peacock feathers. The bright blue eyes of the feathers rest where his real orbs would have been. They shift in the sockets, unblinking, to look at her. "You're above all that."_

 _Buffy can hear Dawn's giggling downstairs. She turns as though moving through molasses and walks out of her mom's room._

" _Oi, Slayer! When am I gonna get the low-down, here?" Spike follows._

" _Go away," Buffy says. Spike moves in front of her._

" _Never happen." His eyes are normal again. Buffy leans in to take them in better. He is beautiful._

 _Dawn shrieks with laughter. Buffy and Spike part and move as one down the stairs. Dawn is sitting on the living room couch with a creature with long hair that falls to its feet, which are clad in black and neon purple sneakers. Dawn has the same pair on. They are comparing footwear._

" _Buffy, look!" Dawn says excitedly. The creature next to her lifts its face and long sharp teeth poke out from behind the hair. Its eyes glow warningly at Buffy. It lifts one clawed hand to point at her ominously._

Buffy sits up in her bed, gasping for breath.

Slayer dream. Had to be. She scrabbles for a piece of paper to write down what happened. A lot of weirdness, even for her. And way too much Spike for her liking.

But more importantly, that Cousin It wannabe freak-show that her sister was talking about? Now Buffy knew what it looked like.

And she is positive that Dawn saw it too.


	5. Chapter 5

Accursed Chapter 5

Buffy is ready to meet up for research-y goodness and for Tara's birthday party at the Bronze, afterwards. Well, kind of ready minus the part where research is good; there's also the fact that she still hasn't found a present for Tara yet. Mainly, she's ready for dream analysis, Giles-style. She feels like she needs to share her dream with Dawn, but she also doesn't want to freak her out unnecessarily. Buffy's dreams usually beg the question, 'But what does this mean?' and Buffy has no clear answers.

So. First, to the Magic Box.

After breakfast.

Buffy enters the kitchen and is surprised to find her mother up and dressed. Somehow her mother's outfit just undeniably says, 'work' and not, 'it's the weekend!'

"Where are you going?" Buffy asks, grabbing a banana and a bowl of cereal for herself.

Joyce is putting on her earrings. "To the gallery. I want to make sure everything's going to be up and running for Monday. Apparently all the power is down for the whole block."

Buffy crinkles her nose. "That sucks. What happened?"

"Oh, it's just terrible! I guess there was an accident while they were fixing the powerlines down the street from the gallery. Two men died from electrocution, if you can believe it. I think the news said that their machine malfunctioned and they crashed right into a live wire."

A chill touches the back of Buffy's neck. Why does that sound so familiar?

It comes to her in a flash of memory. Walking home after Riley. Passing the cherry picker going up and down while men's voices argue above her head. On the same street as her mother's gallery. She had been there.

"When…when did it happen?"

Joyce picks up her purse and starts rooting around for her keys. "Yesterday afternoon."

Oh god. Those men might have died just minutes after she passed them. Buffy feels a little sick. And angry. Their death didn't come at the hands of some demon, but Buffy might have been able to do something to help. The Slayer within claws at her insides. _Save them. Could've saved them._ Maybe, maybe not. But Buffy had only been thinking of Riley. She'd barely paid attention to her surroundings. Maybe not, but maybe…

Buffy must look stricken because her mother pauses on her way out the door. "Is something wrong, sweetie?"

"No," she says quietly. "Not now."

Going to the shop increases her guilt. Xander is there and his eyes are pained when she meets them across the room. He ducks down and keeps looking through his musty old book. Willow comes up to Buffy and murmurs in her ear, "A couple of union guys Xander knew from his job died yesterday. He's pretty bummed."

Anya, overhearing, nods sharply at the two roommates. "It's alarming news. I'd forgotten how fragile you are when you're human."

Xander hunches his shoulders and sinks lower in his seat. "Hey, Buff."

Her throat is tight. Oh god, tell her it wasn't the same guys…

"Sorry to hear about your work friends, Xand."

Xander rubs the back of his head. "We weren't really friend friends. We were just friendly. Rob and Paul's company laid lots of the electric systems at most of my job sites. We ran into each other a lot. They were good guys." He shrugs and goes back to his research. The subject feels closed as he does.

Buffy's stomach hurts from how guilty she feels.

And the bad days just keep on coming.

She raises her head as some hick guy comes wandering into the shop.

Spike meanders through the sewers, taking his time to get to the Magic Box. He fingers Glinda's birthday present in his duster pocket.

Willow and Tara invited him to the party a couple of weeks ago. And by 'invited' he means the young women discussed plans for Tara's birthday in front of him, only to awkwardly cut their conversation off when they realized Spike could hear every word. And then, in their usual stuttering and sincere way, Willow and Tara belatedly invited him.

He should feel snubbed.

Actually, he shouldn't give a shit.

But Spike agreed to be there, mostly because of how earnest the little witches were in their attempt to do right by him. What a weird, weird world.

He enters the shop basement, wiping his boots on what looks an awful lot like one of Rupert's house towels. Shouldn't be leaving things he cares about on the floor. Spike grins at the minor delinquency.

Spike hears muffled shouting above him amidst wild thumps and crashes. And did he smell Lei-Ach demon? Oooo. A fight? Why wasn't he invited to _that_?

Once Tara's surly and close-minded family high tails it back to whatever swamp hole they crawled out of, the gang unanimously decides to close shop early and go to the Bronze to celebrate the awesomeness of Tara-despite the party not being officially set to start for another hour. Alienated by life; trial by fire. That was the Scooby way. Which makes Tara now officially a part of their family.

Buffy grins as she watches Tara's face glow under her friends' attention. Willow is hip to hip with her girlfriend at one of the Bronze's bigger tables, laughing and gazing adoringly at Tara as the shy girl opens Giles' crystal ball gift. Anya begins passing out snickerdoodle cookies.

"I know that treats are traditionally served at celebratory gatherings. Eat as many as you would like! I got these on sale today." Xander smacks his forehead and leans in to whisper more etiquette advice into Anya's ear. "Oh. I retract my last statement. You may assume I baked these from scratch." Next to the couple, Giles smiles vaguely off into the distance, a familiar expression he takes when "waiting for the Anya and Xander show" to be over.

After opening everyone else's mostly dorky and witch-themed presents, Tara softy thanks everyone.

"Earlier, when you guys h-had my back, that was the best present I've ever gotten." Tara ducks her head again, blushing.

Like anyone here didn't understand that sentiment. There was a general chorus of support, and one loud, "here, here" from Willow.

Willow turns and hands a cookie to Spike who's been quietly sitting with his chair perpendicular to their table. A part of the group, but only half-facing them. He looks to be a strange mix of 'too cool to be here' and amused by their cheesy antics.

"And thank you, Spike, for proving Tara's humanity. Now she never has to wonder." Tara nods emphatically.

"You c-can't know how relieved I am to know f-for sure."

Spike shakes his head. "Are you people thanking me for hitting little Glinda, here?" He turns to Buffy. "How come I didn't get snickerdoodles when I tried to kill you, Slayer?"

Buffy groans. "My mother gave you hot chocolate, Spike, what more do you want?"

Spike leers at her, tonguing his teeth. "I always want more."

Giles sighs. "Yes, that is the vampire way. Now, if you all don't mind, I'm going to retire for the evening. Happy Birthday, Tara. Many happy returns."

Tara smiles at him. "Thank you so much, Mr. Giles."

After he leaves, Spike clears his throat and digs in his pocket. "Hold up a mo', Got something for you too, oh Glinda the Good." Tara hangs back from where Willow was leading her to share a dance.

"You got me a present, Spike?" Tara sounds so surprised and touched that Spike squirms in his seat a bit. Bloody white hats. Didn't see any Chorago demons tearing up over ritual sacrifices or any Benebo demons choking up over their hatchlings bringing home a fresh kill. Even vamps didn't make a big thing of gifts. Might be great for a short while, but typically a vamp's short attention span negates any of the warm an' fuzzies receiving a gift may bring.

Not that vamps typically got the warm an' fuzzies.

Spike thrusts his gift at Tara. It's wrapped crudely in newspaper and duct tape. The rest of the Scoobies watch with bemused anticipation as Tara unwraps Spike's handiwork.

Tara pulls out a slim-handled…something. She stares at it. "Um…" Buffy's eyebrows shoot up and she whips her head to look at Spike curiously.

"Oh. Here." Not noticing Buffy's scrutiny, Spike reaches over to maneuver the item in Tara's hand.

A tapered blade springs out of the handle, making Tara jump and Willow gasp. Xander goggles at the gift.

"You got Tara a _switchblade_?" he says in absolute disbelief.

"Well, yeah." Spike says. Tara looks baffled.

"Th-thank you..?" Buffy leans in, bracing the side of her face with one hand to shield her conversation.

"You do know those things are, like, totally illegal right?"

Spike stares back at her flatly. "Last night I walked halfway across town with you wielding an axe. You really care about something like that?"

Buffy straightens. "I don't, but Tara might want to know." Buffy takes the knife from Tara and carefully retracts the blade.

Xander is still looking at Spike like he's sprouted two heads. "You got _Tara_ a switchblade." Anya peers past their table.

"I think we may be making that bouncer uncomfortable," she states without any agenda whatsoever.

And indeed, the nearest bouncer is staring them down hard. Spike follows the nervous group's gaze.

"Forget him. Rahn knows better than to kick the Slayer out of his club."

Buffy doesn't know why she's surprised. Spike knows quite a lot of people around Sunnydale for a Hellmouth transplant. "He knows I'm the Slayer?"

"Works at the Bronze, doesn't he? Trys to make it a safe environment here? Give 'em some credit, luv…"

Huh.

Tara gulps and gingerly takes the knife back from Buffy, holding it as if she fears it will spontaneously cut off her hand.

"Spike, this is…well, I-I'm not sure if I can accept it. I don't k-know if I could, um…"

"None of that, now. Listen up. This here's the perfect present for you and today's proved that. Somebody messes with you, can lay 'em out flat."

Willow's mouth is hanging open. She supposes this is what they get for inviting a soulless vampire to a birthday party. Does he really think Tara would stab her own flesh and blood? Well, she might want to, but she wouldn't actually do it!

Spike reads the unease in the others' eyes. "Somebody or _something._ S'all the same to me. Anyway, now you can defend yourself. More than easy, an infant could use it. And it's for stabbing, not cutting, so it shouldn't offend your delicate human sensibilities—hardly any blood sometimes—but it goes deep so it's right effective. Beastie jumps you? BAM!" Spike smacks his hand on the table, making everyone but a secretly grinning Buffy jump. "You pop him once, real good with this and make a run for it. Should at least slow 'im down. Would definitely do against a puny human."

Anya looks very sentimental. "What a thoughtful gift!"

Spike tips his head smugly. "I know."

Buffy coughs, "Tara, Giles or I could show you how to use that if you want to learn. Actually, Spike or Xander probably could too." If one counts Xander's military know-how, he's pretty handy with the more modern weaponry.

Tara actually seems to be considering it. "I'll think about it."

Soon after, she follows Willow to the dance floor and they are quickly joined by Anya and Xander.

Spike and Buffy regard each other across a table full of wrapping paper, snickerdoodles, and drinking glasses.

"Nice knife." Buffy finally says. Her eyes twinkle a bit. The entire episode has worked wonders to cheer her up out of her funk.

"Damn straight, it's a nice knife. Brought that beauty over from Italy in the 50's. Have another bigger one at m'crypt just like it."

"Italian stiletto with a bayonet blade?" Buffy asks, casually.

Spike regards her appreciatively. "Yeah. Even has a medieval cross guard detail."

Buffy tosses her hair. "I did notice that. Adds a classic touch."

Spike smirks at her. She grins back.

Spike somehow reclines in his straight back chair. "Never got a chance to share any juicy tidbits, what with all the drama."

"Oh, from Willy's?"

"Yeah. Seems some local demons are having a rough time of it, recently. Whole slew of Bolarg's have been struck down with some kinda plague that hasn't bothered 'em in centuries. And heard about a cave-in on the west end of town that trapped a whole clan of Ta'muks. Got lots of demon types uneasy-like. Just something in the air. S'not good."

Buffy rolls her shoulder. "And I should care about this, why? Demons dying on me off-the-clock makes my job easier."

Spike quirks his brow, "If something bad is creepin' up on the creepy crawlies, you seriously don't wanna know what's doing it?"

Well, when he puts it like that…

"Did you find anything out about Ethan Rayne? Or that hiker-eater? Or Dawn's Cousin It?"

Spike groans, "Do you have to keep calling it that?"

"Spike!"

"Yeah, alright! Christ, woman, you are pushy!"

In the background, Melanie Doane sings "I Can't Keep My Eyes Off of You." On the dance floor, Tara and Willow embrace tightly and sway to the music. Xander and Anya are up at the bar grabbing more drinks.

Spike and Buffy stare each other down. Spikes whooshes a sigh. "Vamp at Willy's got an eyeful of the thing that ate those hikers. Saw the whole bleeding thing."

Buffy leans forward with interest. "Description? Does it sound like Dawn's phantom?"

Spike waves her down, "Hold off, now. According to that fledge, it looks like some kind of bigfoot with its feet on backwards and it had 'metal claws.'"

Buffy stares at him in disbelief.

"What?"

But she just puts a hand over her eyes and mutters, "Hellmouth, or Ripley's Believe It Or Not?"

Spike laughs. "Don't be bitter. Assuming Junior wasn't overreacting, we could have ourselves a real interesting foe running amok out there."

Buffy drapes her crossed arms over her stomach and says sullenly, "Running amok eating Sunnydale citizens." Spike just shrugs.

"So we hunting it down, then?" he asks, leaning forward eagerly, elbows on the table, one clenched fist on top of the other.

Buffy looks at the excitement in Spike's face. His bright blue eyes dancing. How animated he looks right now. How attractive.

Ha. Like a venus fly trap. Next thing Buffy knows, she'll be starring in Sunnydale's new hit reality series, 'Married to a Serial Killer.'

Still, they do work well together.

"Yeah, patrol tomorrow night?"

"Right then, meet you at your house?"

"No, I'm going back to the dorms tonight." She glances over to Willow who's looking pretty amorous. "I'll probably be alone," she adds dryly. "Just meet me in the dorm hall. We can span out from there. It wasn't so far from the campus that the first deaths occurred, anyway."

Buffy eyes Spike dubiously as he rubs his palms together in gleeful delight. "You are way too excited about this."

"Too excited? Too excited? I've been bored outta my skull this whole damn summer. Even sat through a round of crazy eights one night with Harris and Snack Size, for lack of more scintillating options, if you do recall."

Buffy snorts. "Oh, I recall. You spilled whiskey all over Giles." Spike smiles fondly up at the ceiling.

"Oh, yeah."

Xander and Anya rejoin them. "We're heading out, guys." Xander says, exchanging googly eyes with Anya.

"Don't let the door smack you in the arse on the way out," Spike says cheerily. Xander flips him off. Anya hooks her arm through his and moves to leave. Xander clears his throat. Anya sighs and tosses down a tip. They exit, chattering the whole way, noses practically touching from how close their faces are.

"Disgusting, innit? How lovey dovey everybody is? How in blazes do you stand it, Slayer?"

Buffy curls in on herself a little. "Practice?" Spike snorts.

"Cardboard gone for good then? Heard Red catching Rupes up."

"Yeah. He's gone down south to carry on the fight."

Spike drums his fingers on his forearm. "Brazil, south?" he asks tightly.

"…I think more like Central America."

Spike relaxes, minutely. He abruptly tosses the rest of his drink back and stands. "Well, I've got other places to be, so I'll be shoving off."

The atmosphere is weird between them for the first time tonight. Buffy nods and he sweeps out the door, saluting Tara and Willow as he goes, though they barely acknowledge him, caught up as they are in each other.

Buffy sits alone at the messy table.

"Practice," she whispers to herself once more.


	6. Chapter 6

Accursed Chapter 6

"I still can't believe you forgot I was going to my cousin's all weekend, Dawn. I've only been talking about it for like the last three weeks! Remember? Potential house party? Cute boys? Ricky from camp was going to be there?"

Dawn winces shamefacedly over at her best friend, both of them sitting in Sunnydale's intermediary school library for free period. "Sorry, totally slipped my mind."

"Not that I didn't dig the call. All the real action happened Friday night anyway. The rest was just a bunch of lame family stuff."

"Oh, that sucks." Dawn didn't actually think family stuff was that lame. Well, Buffy could be lame and her mom could be embarrassing, but she kind of liked hanging out with them, most of the time.

Of course, only losers owned up to stuff like that.

Janice keeps babbling on about what Ricky was like, how he'd changed since they'd last seen each other, what everyone was wearing. Dawn nods or laughs at all the appropriate parts, but honestly, she's only half-listening.

Dawn hasn't seen anything creepy since walking home Saturday night with her sister and Spike. That doesn't really reassure her though, because Buffy hasn't found that hairy monster yet. Which means it's still out there somewhere. How exactly it knew Dawn's name…wondering about that keeps her up at night. Why it spoke with Janice's voice, she doesn't know either. But Janice was definitely gone for the whole thing, so—

"Hey, are you even listening?" Janice looks at her incredulously. Dawn feels a stab of annoyance.

"Yeah." She says defensively. Janice rolls her eyes like she doesn't believe Dawn.

"Whatever, bozo. Like I was saying, there's a skirt at the mall I've just been _dying_ to buy. I finally have enough money for it, but my mom would kill me if she knew I was going to get it. So I have to buy it without her knowing."

Dawn nods in understanding. Moms were just too old to get stuff like cool clothes. Sometimes it was just better to ask for forgiveness than to walk around dressed like a frumpy little kid.

"So are you game?"

Wait, what? Dawn's clearly missed something here. "Game?" she repeats, uncertainly.

Janice lowers her voice, surreptitiously checking out their surroundings for teachers or the little old librarian. "To skip? We have most of free period left and all of lunch. And then Mr. Kaiser hardly ever takes attendance in gym. We have hours. We could be back for the last couple classes and no one would ever know."

"I don't know. What if we get caught?"

"We won't get caught. The door to freedom is literally like five steps down the hall." Janice turns up the pleading in her eyes. " _C'mon_ , Dawn! Please! You have to help me out here! I won't go alone. Buddy system, right?"

Dawn is just about to capitulate when she catches sight of something through the library's half-open window that freezes the breath in her lungs.

The hairy monster thing is looking in through the window directly at Dawn with its glowing green eyes. It just stands out there, staring in, appearing jarringly out place between an American flag and a bookshelf currently being perused by oblivious students.

Dawn's heartbeat picks up and her breaths come shorter and faster.

 _What is it doing here?_ Here! At Dawn's school! In the middle of the day! Yeah, it's kind of overcast but it's still the kind of autumn daylight a vamp would dust in.

"Dawn?" Janice's voice sounds like it's echoing down a long tunnel to get to her.

If they leave the school, Dawn and Janice will be outside with that thing. It's staying far enough away for now, but what will it do without walls between them?

"We can't go," Dawn says hoarsely.

She doesn't even know what Janice says to that. Free period passes in a blur. Eventually, Dawn notices Janice leaving in a huff to go sit with some other girls. Normally, Dawn would be hurt by that but she barely notices today.

No matter where in the library Dawn goes, those glowing eyes ominously follow her. Like those creepy paintings that can make eye contact with you from any direction. It doesn't make a single sound. Nobody else seems to see it there, watching without blinking. Considering all of the scary weirdness Dawn's been exposed to since moving to Sunnydale, this thing really shouldn't panic her so much.

But something about its steady gaze seems to say, _I'm coming for you. Just wait until we're alone._

Willow and Tara giggle, heads bent towards each other, as they walk up to Willow's family home. The weather is unusually cool, even for the season, and Willow just doesn't have warm enough clothes at her dorm. Or at Tara's.

Willow smiles widely at her girlfriend. Last night had been so amazing. Even the not-so-amazing parts, like Tara's manipulative family trying to take her away, were somehow still of the good. Because of everything that happened, Willow now knows Tara better. And then, spending some quality time with Willow's family—her real family—brought Tara into the fold even further. Willow can't remember the last time she's felt so at peace with herself. But Tara brings that out in her so naturally, without even seeming to try. Peace, balance, love. Not too shabby, as far as relationships go.

Willow unlocks the door and shushes Tara with a conspiring grin. As far as Willow's parents know, she and Tara are just friends. It wasn't that Willow was ashamed of her, goddess no! It's just that…Ira and Sheila Rosenberg have no real knowledge about anything of importance in Willow's life. The last time she'd tried to include her mother had been a disaster. If her mom couldn't accept that magic was real or that Willow was a witch, how could she expect her mom to accept her magical girlfriend? It wasn't even a matter of trying to avoid an argument because there wouldn't be an argument. Just a rational explanation of Willow's behavior and motivations, etc.

So, Tara is just a friend of Willow's and Willow's extracurriculars with Buffy and the rest include scholastics and martial arts. Which is accurate enough.

Yeah.

Anyway, her parents are never home, so popping in and out for supplies is a non-issue. Tara touches the small of Willow's back affectionately as they enter the quiet house. Grabbing more sweaters, socks, and her wool coat takes no time at all. Willow and Tara discuss only what's necessary and in private murmurs to each other. They hardly need words to understand one another. Coming back downstairs, Willow makes a detour to the kitchen, only to halt in shock.

"Mom?" Sheila was _never_ home during the day. And on a weekday? What about work?

Her mom jumps in surprise, clearly not realizing she's had company in the house for the last fifteen minutes.

Willow watches a martini glass shatter on the kitchen floor. The remaining alcohol eases across the tile.

Sheila's hand is over her heart. "Willow! You scared me half to death!"

"Sorry," Willow says numbly. Her mom is home from work. At two in the afternoon. Drinking a martini by herself. _What_ is going on?

"Oh," Tara says from slightly behind Willow. "Let me help you with that, Mrs. Rosenberg." Tara moves past Willow's frozen form to grab towels and begin mopping up the mess.

"Tara, you don't have to do that." Willow says, eyes still on her mom. Sheila's hands cover her face. Willow grabs a broom and dustpan. "Mom? What's going on?"

A long exasperated sigh bursts from her mom. "I was fired today, Willow. That is what's going on. They fired me. Me!" Sheila slumps down on a stool by the counter. Willow could be knocked over with a feather, she was so shocked. Her mom was one of the top child psychologists in the area. How could she have been fired?

Quickly, Willow helps Tara finish cleaning up. Sheila speaks as though in a trance. "My boss just walked up to me this morning and gave me the pink slip. That's it, no discussion. Eight years with the company and they dismiss me without any notice whatsoever. Why? No reason given, none…"

Tara wipes her hands on the kitchen towel then takes a seat across from Sheila. "I'm so sorry this has happened to you. Will they recommend you for your next job?" Tara puts a hand over one of Willow's mom's.

"They damn well better!" Sheila says loudly, voice upset. Willow realizes that the broken glass may not have held Sheila's first martini of the day. Sheila goes on and on about her credentials, the other opportunities available to her, the many offers she's turned down over the years. Willow watches in awe as her normally lofty and put-together mother dissolves into actual emotionally-driven ranting in the face of Tara's warm sympathy.

Boxes of Sheila's personal effects are stacked on the kitchen counter. Resting on top of a framed psychology degree, amidst a few lone other decorative items, lays a single peacock feather.

Across town, Joyce sits in the hospital lab, numbly listening to her doctor describe the shadowy results of her brain scan.

Spike strolls into Stevenson Hall just after dusk. Dozens of nummy treats are scattered across the common area. Some lay on couches, others throw a football back and forth. A circle of flashily dressed women in party-ready make-up lounge like lazy cats about a round table. A brunette using a compact mirror to reapply her lipstick pauses in confusion, her back to Spike, as she sees a couple of freshmen guys part around Spike to keep walking out the door. Or, rather, she sees the guys walk way out of their way for no apparent obstacle.

Spike grins as she turns around. Her friends have already started shooting him _the look._ The one he's taken advantage of time and time again to get a lovely spot of dinner. His stomach rumbles as the brunette with the lipstick cranes her elegant neck around to see him better.

Ah. Alas.

Spike swaggers by them, ignoring the girls' friendly calls. He makes his way to where he knows Buffy's dorm to be. He'd waited outside for the Slayer, thinking she would be as ready and raring to go as Spike was. But no, apparently he has to come call on her in her dorm room like some kind of ridiculous warrior-suitor.

Ha. _Bitch,_ Spike thinks fondly. Sometimes Spike wonders if the Slayer orchestrates these things on purpose as a sort of power play. He comes to her, but she won't go to him. A classic, calculating move made by powerful individuals everywhere. No wonder the Slayer feels she needs to make it now. Now that she's agreed to patrol with Spike. Gotta keep in a dominant position, two alphas in play now…

Spike comes to a stop in front of Buffy's open dorm room door. The girl is sprawled on the floor, face down in a pillow and surrounded by textbooks and papers. She's wearing enormous fuzzy socks and her hair is in a messy bun that flops over the edge of her pillow.

"Done yet?" A girl in the open room across the hall shouts at Buffy. Without lifting her head, Buffy moans.

"It's never done. My professors are trying to kill me."

Spike shakes his head in disbelief. So this is the state affairs he walks into now? Unbelievable…

"Obviously they could use tips from a professional because here you lie, completely unharmed." Spike remarks dryly.

Buffy jackknifes up. "Oh, shit! Spike! I didn't notice you."

Spike groans, "Stop, stop. D'you have any idea how insulting that is?"

Buffy runs around her room, throwing on proper shoes and kicking her schoolwork aside. "Is it that time already? It can't be sundown, I just got back from class!"

The girl across the hall, still listening, laughs. "Girl, you've been lying there for two hours!" Buffy shoots an embarrassed little look at Spike as she tosses her fuzzy socks in a hamper. She calls back around him,

"No wonder I'm beat! I'm gonna get some fresh air, Tina. See you around."

Tina, a petite girl with dreadlocks peeks out of her room for the first time. "Alright! You— _oh_." Tina sees Spike leaning a shoulder against Buffy's doorframe. " _Alright._ Alright-y. I will see you tomorrow, yeah?" The girl winks in the most unsubtle way at Buffy who is flushed pink by now.

"Oh, no, he's not—" But Tina has already disappeared into the confines of her bedroom again. Buffy groans and smacks her forehead. "Gah! Let's just forget any of that happened, okay?"

Spike wishes he could. Alphas! His lip curls in derision. What does the Slayer _do_ in this place? Pretend to be a normal little nobody? Quash down her own brilliance to dredge out an existence next to the Tinas and the football players and the party girls of the world? Christ…

The awkward silence between them lasts all the way out to the quad.

Buffy marches on, as if determined to act normal. Normal for them. Whatever that is these days.

Spike sighs and lights up a cigarette. "You planning on stomping past every possible clue we might across tonight?" Buffy's shoulders tense, then relax. She slows down to her usual prowl.

"No," she says, voice slightly defensive, lip pouting just a tidge. Spike wonders if she knows how bitable she looks when she does that. Maybe it's a predator thing for her. Lure 'em in, then devour 'em whole.

Buffy considers the look in Spike's eye and quickly shakes off what little expression was on her face. She always worries she looks like Dawn when she pouts that way.

Spike blows out a stream of nicotine-tainted air. His eyes point to the ground now as he grumbles under his breath. She can't make it out. "So how big is this thing supposed to be?"

Spike glances over, "Bout eight feet tall, to hear tell of it. Like I said before, might need to take that description with a grain of salt. Fledges are easily excitable."

Buffy snorts, "And I suppose you're not?"

Spike arrogantly raises his head, "I'm a master vampire, sweetheart. I get excited, I get excited. But it's me that's in control, not my animal brain." He flicks off some ash. "Lived a long time. Doesn't happen for just every vamp, tick, and scary. 'Specially in this day and age. Harder to hide when every living soul gets tracked into some system. Only the third worlds make decent long term hunting grounds for a fledge these days. That or the huge inner cities."

Buffy is impressed, in spite of herself. Not so much with Spike's 'ooo, I'm the Big Bad, can't touch this' spiel, but in his ability to view the world and its circumstances as a whole. Even through history. Buffy has her hands so full here in Sunnydale due to the Hellmouth that sometimes she forgets that demons walk other parts of the earth as well. Giles has often—futilely-tried to impress on Buffy the culture and the changes demonkind has undergone in the past, but it really resonates to hear Spike talk about it first-hand.

Spike slows and Buffy slows with him. Her vampire sense tingles across the back of her neck. Spike puts out his cigarette under his boot heel and leads the way off the path. On the other side of some bushes, Buffy can hear what seems to be a whole group of vamps having a mini powwow.

She pulls out her stake and prepares to jump in when Spike catches hold of her elbow and shakes his head at her. He points to his ear, indicating they should eavesdrop first. Also not a bad idea. Sometimes, Buffy stakes first on instinct only to realize her purposes might have been better served by an interrogation or something.

They listen.

"…dust, all of them. Not a single one spared!" One vamp cries dramatically. Spike looks at Buffy and mouths 'fledge.' Buffy rolls her eyes.

"What was wrong with the crypt?" Another vamp asks. "Aren't they made of stone or something?"

"Yeah, but I'm telling you guys, the whole thing crumbled to the ground, right at the sunniest time of the day!"

"Sounds like a freak accident," a female vamp says.

"Maybe the Slayer is wising up to our lairs. Maybe she's booby trapping them! I've heard she has a coven of witches at her disposal."

Buffy fights to keep a straight face. Spike smirks and stares steadily at her, one eyebrow raised. She avoids eye contact so she doesn't laugh and give their position away.

"Maybe you broke outta your coffin head-first, brainless. Slayer avoids destruction of property unless forced into it. Everybody knows that."

Buffy wonders if this is what celebrities feel like, reading about themselves in magazines. Spike nudges her. Oh yeah. These guys don't know anything. Time to slay.

Spike puts his lips to her ear and whispers, "Keep count." Idiot, always making things into some kind of ridiculous competition.

Buffy leaps out without warning, making at least three of the vamps shriek like she was the boogeyman or something. They scatter.

If it's a competition though, Buffy is so going to win it. She gives chase and, off to her left, feels Spike do the same.


	7. Chapter 7

Accursed Chapter 7

 _A few days later_

Buffy and Dawn anxiously wait on an uncomfortable hospital visitors' couch for their mom to complete her follow-up appointment.

Joyce had taken Buffy and Spike's coaxing to heart and had gone in, unbeknownst to her daughters, to see the family doctor. Alarmingly, those little "nothing" headaches actually showed up on a preliminary brain scan ordered by Dr. Isaacs. He then advised coming in for even more testing to determine exactly what the shadow in Joyce's brain indicated.

Joyce had finally brought Buffy and Dawn up to speed the previous evening. As it was, Joyce was going to need someone to give her a ride home from the hospital after today's appointment. That is the reason Buffy's Watcher is pacing around the lobby restlessly at this very moment.

Giles looks over at his slayer with concern. Buffy has put on a brave face and is speaking quietly to her sister over on the couch. Undoubtedly, reassuring her that their mother would be fine. Giles has no children of his own, but he feels the pain of a father when he gazes upon this plateau. Buffy already has so much on her plate and does so well with most of it.

In addition to beating the odds on a slayer's average life expectancy, Buffy does an outstanding job patrolling a very active hellmouth, administering justice and saving lives nearly every night. She has averted apocalypses, at great personal cost to herself, and stood strong in the face of adversity which has come from corners that should support her. Giles tries not to think about the Cruciamentum very often, but it will always rest uneasily on his heart. Probably, he suspects, for the rest of his life.

Beyond Buffy's sacred duty, she has kept close and healthy relationships with her family and circle of friends. While against the grain, Buffy's many relationships have proven to be a source of great strength for her. Unfortunately, times naturally arise when a person's relationships will become a strain, an understandable result of caring for others.

Giles worries for his slayer. Should her mother's medical condition become serious, Buffy will be forced to juggle a quite a lot of responsibilities. With Buffy already patrolling increased threats nearly every night and going to university during the week, sickness on the family front may prove to be too much for her.

Giles could fill volumes on what his Watcher's training has not prepared him for. Caring for this remarkable young woman has forced him to grow in ways he'd never realized he could. The strain of it, at times, is immense.

Giles paces.

Dr. Isaacs comes out to deliver the news. Buffy meets him, springing lithely up on her feet. Giles hangs back, unwilling to intrude unless Buffy expressly wishes it. He watches, with increasing dread, as Buffy's eyes grow glassy and panicked. The doctor's specific worlds don't reach Giles, but he can see even from across the room that the man is steamrolling right over Buffy, barely giving her a chance to take in whatever bombshell he dropped at the beginning.

Rupert Giles is a man of manners, but something about his girl's crumpled expression has him insinuating himself between the two with little thought for propriety.

"Can I help you with anything, Buffy?" She looks at him with little-girl eyes. He hasn't seen those in quite a long time. Dread arms the butterflies in Rupert's stomach with lead weights.

"H-he said Mom has, that she's got a…a…"

"Oligodendroglioma," the doctor unhelpfully supplies. "A brain tumor."

Dear god.

Giles shelves his inner panic and moves into crisis management mode, handling the doctor's incessant questions, helping Buffy sort the paperwork, and encouraging her to speak with Dawn who is sending them wide-eyed looks from where she still sits.

"Would you like me to go with you?" Giles offers. Buffy shakes her head.

"No, no, I need to do it. Will you…will you call the others and let them know? I don't want to have to…" Giles nods. Buffy bites her lip. "You really don't think we can see Mom before they operate?"

"Dr. Isaacs did not seem to think so. She is already being prepped as we speak. Your mother is her own medical advocate, Buffy. If she chose to go ahead with the procedure, that is entirely in her hands. From the sounds of it, this is just an, ah…exploratory step. To find out the options available to your mother. I wouldn't be too worried, if I were you."

Buffy does not look terribly reassured. Giles feels like an ass. But Buffy is already squaring her shoulders and sniffing back her tears and walking over to her sister. Brave, brave girl. Giles turns and removes his glasses to press a hand to his aching eyes. Then sighing, he goes to call the Magic Box.

Dawn feels very young and very stupid, here at the hospital. Buffy and Giles and Dr. Isaacs all buzz around her, handling things, talking to one another furtively.

It doesn't look good. Things haven't been right all week.

Dawn hasn't even had the chance to tell Buffy about that…Cousin It thing that's been following her around. It waits for her outside her classroom windows, but not always. Dawn even saw it once from her bedroom window at home. The creature just watches her, doing nothing and being seen by no one.

Buffy has been busy with college and patrols and stuff all week and hasn't visited home since the weekend. Dawn even tried calling Buffy at her dorm a couple of times, but she always seemed to be out. Dawn couldn't quite bring herself to leave a message. Saying it out loud makes it more real. Part of Dawn wants to handle it herself. She isn't just a stupid kid; she knows things. Dawn knows how to kill vampires. She knows how to stop bleeding. She knows magic is real and that you aren't supposed to invite strangers into the house.

She doesn't know what to do about the creature stalking her. And she doesn't know what to do now. Her mom is sick. And it looks bad.

Buffy comes over to her again and sinks onto the cushion next to her. She looks at Dawn with adult-y and sympathetic eyes. Dawn feels tears prick behind her own eyes. Buffy can be so stupid and Dawn hates when her sister pretends to be a grown-up. But this time feels different. This isn't Buffy about to boss Dawn around because she's older. This is Buffy talking to Dawn because their mom isn't here to do it.

Dawn listens to Buffy haltingly explain about the brain tumor. Automatically, the tears roll down Dawn's cheeks. Brain tumors were bad. All the TV shows said so. People died from those.

Hearing that Mom was currently getting operated on right this second almost makes Dawn completely lose it.

"She didn't want to talk to us first? What if something happens! Buffy, we have to go see her first!" Buffy reaches out and hugs her. Dawn's panic increases.

"The doctor said it wasn't a big surgery or anything. They're just going in to…take a look and see what they can do. They need to look at it first. That's all."

Dawn settles back on the couch, stomach aching with stress. The two sisters huddle there in silence while they wait for it to be over.

Xander groans as even more customers push into the Magic Box. "Where are all these people coming from?"

Anya beams as bustles around the counter, accepting money and handing out receipts. "Hopefully from well-paying jobs! Have a nice day and come back with your money again sometime!" The man at the register gives her a weird look, then takes his purchases, which include newt's eyes and the creepy snow globe featuring Ms.-Headless-Walker, and leaves.

Willow, wearing a witch's hat, hands out the shop's Halloween doorbuster prizes to the crushing crowd around them. "Why are we here again? This is crazy!"

Xander shakes his head as he unwraps another box of…ew, garlic strands. "What I want to know is where the heck Giles ran off to. This is his big day! Geez!" Giles and Anya had collaborated and decided to have a big Halloween-themed blow out sale the weekend before Halloween. Giving out free door prizes, dressing up in costume…it had drawn in way more interest than even Anya had dared hope for.

Willow scowls, which makes a gaggle of little kids giggle and point at her. She hears the words 'witch' as they squeal and careen around to the other side of the table to continue pointing and whisper-giggling about her. She feels mildly affronted on behalf of all witches.

Willow wishes Tara could be here. It would help enormously with the irritating Anya factor, but Tara had a late afternoon anthropology class today. She wouldn't be able to get here until practically dinner time. Tara was the only other person Willow knew besides herself who willingly chose Friday night classes.

"Giles so owes us for this," she grumbles to herself.

"Xander!" Anya calls over to her pirate-themed boyfriend. "Bring some more cauldrons up from the basement, we're running low!"

Xander gratefully pulls away from the crowd and disappears into the relative peace and quiet of the shop basement. He picks his way through the mess of fake Halloween décor scattered among the very real magic shop merchandise.

"You people holding a rodeo up there, or what?" Spike's voice startles Xander into dropping the heavy plastic cauldron with a bang.

"Holy…! For the love of god, Spike, can you be less of a creepy vampire once in a while! What are you lurking down here for anyway?"

Spike holds up a bag of what looks like thin twisted sticks. "Come for some burba weed for my blood. Ran plum out few days back. What's with the eye patch?"

"An evil monster poked my eye out," Xander snaps sarcastically.

"Oh. Neat. More rugged look, that is."

The door opens and Anya comes down the stairs with all the grace of a steam powered train engine. "Xander! What's taking so long? I've already had three requests…Spike! You better be paying for that burba weed. It isn't cheap you know!"

Spike grimaces. He'd meant to be in and out before the ex-vengeance demon discovered his presence. Now he'd definitely have to shell out. One didn't simply steal from vengeance demons, powerless or not.

"Course, love. You know me."

"I do know you and I know all about your five-finger discounts. Not this time, pal. Come upstairs and pay at the register properly like everyone else does. Oh, and help Xander carry up those cauldrons." She practically flies back up the stairs.

Xander and Spike exchange a wary look. Spike shrugs. "Scary gal you've got there, Harris."

Xander grins. "Yeah," he says dreamily. Xander enjoys every instance he gets to see Spike put in his place.

Between the two men, they are able to haul upstairs a half dozen large cauldrons. Spike gapes at the fanfare in the shop.

"What in the bleedin' hell?"

Willow spots him. "Oh, Spike! Are you here to help?" Spike stares at her with zero expression. The redhead's animated face falls flat. "Oh, right."

Spike shoves, but not too hard, his way to the front of the line. Anya smiles with plastic professionalism at him from behind the counter. "Welcome to the Magic Box. Did you find everything you were looking for today?" Spike rolls his eyes and tosses the burba weed on the counter. Anya rings it up. "That'll be $25.20."

"Twenty-five…? You're charging me an arm and a leg for this!"

Anya keeps the large smile on her face. "It probably cost someone an arm and a leg to retrieve this batch. Unsavory conditions, this time of year."

"Un-bloody-believable!" Spike digs through his pockets and angrily throws a bunch of crumpled money at Anya. She counts it out and gives him his change.

"Thank you for shopping at the Magic Box. Please come back—"

"Oh, spare me!" Spike growls and stomps away. Xander laughs at him. He, Willow, and Spike end up squished up by one of the shop walls. Spike is angrily muttering under his breath. Then he squints at Willow's pointed hat.

"What the hell is going on here?"

"Halloween sale," Willow says with a shrug. Spike looks around, hopping to his toes to see over the crowd.

"But this is a proper magic supply store. What's with all the…" he gestures around at the cheesy decorations, only to halt open-mouthed in outrage when he spots the wall-hanging behind the group.

A goofy vampire holding his hands up into cartoon-y claws has a word bubble coming from his fangy mouth. It says, "I vant to suck your blud! Mwahahaha!"

Spike is actually speechless. Anya, who has been circling the shop in a predatory manner, comes to stand with them. She looks at Spike with uncharacteristic embarrassment. "It helps with sales," Anya says.

Spike gestures wordlessly at the goofy rendition. "This…this is just tasteless."

Anya makes a face up at the poster. "Yes. It's tacky as hell, but I'm profiting off of people who buy cheap, tacky products." Spike rolls his shoulders.

"S'pose I could get behind that…Still can't believe you charged me so much for that burba weed when you've got insulting poofters like _this_ hanging about giving us vamps a bad name." Spike turns his back on the poster.

Willow and Xander watch the byplay in fascination. Demons, ex-demons. They really _didn't_ like Halloween.

The phone rings. Anya pushes her way back to the front to answer it. Next to Willow and Xander, Spike shivers. "Can't stand this place right now. I'm hiding out 'til all this madness has passed."

Anya looks over at the trio, forehead furrowed. Xander frowns and joins her, taking the phone. Even from the back of the shop, Willow can see the color drain from Xander's face.

"Can you hear what he heard?" Willow asks Spike tentatively.

Spike's face has frozen into an expression that Willow, if she didn't know any better, would call concern.

He turns and leaves without answering. Willow feels goosebumps break out over her arms for some reason. She watches her oldest friend make his way back to her with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

Willow's heart sinks.

Tara breathes in the crisp autumn air as she leaves her last class of the week. The sun is low in the sky and the wind kicks up torrents of dried leaves to spin in the air. Most Sunnydale citizens have been complaining about the unseasonably cool weather, but Tara likes it. The changing seasons remind her of home.

Tara waves goodbye to a classmate and walks up to the campus sidewalk that runs flush to the street. She looks both ways but sees no cars from either direction. That was another cool thing about Sunnydale, lots of people chose to walk places instead of drive.

Tara takes her time walking down the sidewalk. She was the kind of person who actually liked to be left alone with her thoughts once in a while. Tara enjoys her walk, looking around the campus to her left and to the people bustling across the street in and out of Sunnydale's many shops off to her right.

As she comes to a street corner, Tara slows to a stop and smiles at the woman in a red coat waiting to cross the street. The woman, dressed warmly in wool with a long scarf coiled around her neck, smiles back at Tara.

The wind picks up. It rushes a swirl of leaves by the two women's legs and stretches Tara's companion's scarf out horizontal.

"Gosh, it's been so chilly," the woman exclaims to Tara. Tara laughs—

A car speeds past where they stand. One wheel catches the end of the dangling scarf and keeps on going.

Tara screams as the woman she's been talking to falls to her knees, headless.


	8. Chapter 8

Accursed Chapter 8

Buffy trudges her way to the Magic Box, feeling like her feet have been tied down with lead weights.

Her mom is still in the hospital for observation. Dr. Isaacs wanted to keep her there until Joyce's big surgery is over.

Buffy's mom has a tumor and it's mal..malgin…it's like cancer. And they have to cut it out so it doesn't take over her mom's brain and kill her someday. At least, that's what Buffy got from Dr. Isaacs' explanation. He used so many huge medical-ly words that Buffy could only sit there and wish Giles was still there to translate.

Buffy's had to take over a lot of Mom-ish duties at home since Joyce hasn't been able to come home. Buffy's all but moved back to Revello Drive to be with Dawn and help at the house. Her friends came to Buffy and Dawn in an outpouring of support that nearly left Buffy in tears once again. They helped her move her stuff home and clean up the house. Willow brought over homemade food and Giles organized all sorts of things Buffy wouldn't even have thought about, like making sure no bills needed to be paid this week, fixing up paperwork at Dawn's school, and helping Buffy find all sorts of documents her mom needed access to in order to move forward at the hospital.

Buffy had just seen Dawn off to school. Janice's mom was driving the girls to and from all week…

Buffy can't believe that her mom's appointment had just been a couple days ago. So much is happening, all at once, Buffy can barely keep up. She hasn't been to class at all since The Appointment. She'd just been considering going back today when she got the call to meet at the Magic Box.

Buffy hesitates outside of the shop door. Even though it's the normal business hours, the shop's closed sign is hanging in the window. Buffy feels her stomach knot up with even more tension. This could only mean more trouble.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy enters the shop.

Her friends are moving around in a flurry of activity. Willow sees her first. "Buffy! Buffy's here!" Everyone slowly stops what they are doing. Giles rises from his seat.

"How are you doing, my dear?" Buffy stares at her Watcher suspiciously.

"You know, just dandy. I'm the dandiest. What's going on here? You closed the shop?"

Giles glances over his shoulder at Anya who is furiously flipping through some business binder. "Yes, well we did so well with the Halloween sale that we aren't harming ourselves by shutting down for one day. And we have quite a lot to work on as it is."

Buffy raises an expectant eyebrow. "What are we working on?" Willow nervously twists her hands.

"We didn't want to bother you with it, Buffy, because you've had so much other really important stuff going on—"

"Spit it out, Wills. You guys are making me nervous."

Xander slams a fist onto the phone book he hasn't looked away from since Buffy walked in. "What's going on is that those creepy-ass snow globes Anya has are coming true." He looks up at Buffy now and she sees the angst in his eyes. "Remember those things? Look." He pushes one towards Buffy across the table. Buffy slowly approaches and picks it up to examine it closer.

Xander's rough movement unsettled black flakes that swirl lazily and resettle again almost immediately. A cherry picker with a basket carrying two workers up in the globe tilts dangerously into some powerlines. Buffy feels her stomach drop.

"Oh my god."

Xander smiles, but there isn't a trace of happiness in it.

"Yeah. Buffy, meet Rob and Paul. Paul is the one with the lime green coveralls. We used to tease him mercilessly about those things."

Buffy feels sick. She hastily puts the snow globe down so she isn't touching it anymore.

"How…how is this happening?" she says mostly to herself. Her head jerks up. "Have any others come true? Wasn't there one with some headless lady?"

"There was." Tara whispers. Buffy sees Tara's eyes are red-rimmed and her cheeks are white. Now that she thinks about it, Buffy hasn't seen Tara in days.

Willow quickly moves over to put a comforting arm around Tara's shoulder. Willow looks at Buffy with big worried eyes. "Tara saw the whole thing."

Buffy's eyes go big, too. She looks back to Tara. The gentle girl sniffles miserably.

"I was standing right next to the woman it happened to. Sh-she was wearing this scarf." Tara's eyes fill with tears. "Then all of a sudden this car c-came out of nowhere and caught her scarf in its wheels. The f-force of it…" Tara's voice breaks, unable to continue. Horror fills Buffy.

Giles grimaces. "No such thing as coincidence on a hellmouth, so we ruled that out immediately. Furthermore, there are far too many details that prove the situations are the same. Xander's friend with the odd colored coveralls. The street's placement between the university and the shops where the woman was, ah…beheaded," Giles finishes delicately with a cautious glance towards Tara. "These circumstances were all matched in the snow globes."

Anya sighs in frustration. "I can't find the name of the globes' manufacturer, Giles."

"Keep looking."

"Obviously," Anya mutters. "That's not all though. We have one more snow globe scene we don't think has become reality yet."

Buffy blanches, remembering. "The dog eating the little boy? God!" How much more of all this could Buffy take? "We can't let that happen. Giles. We _have_ to solve this. Like, yesterday."

Giles rubs his forehead. "Indeed. We have been working on this since…well since your mother's appointment. I felt it was time for you to be brought up to speed."

Buffy doesn't know if she's pissed or grateful she'd been kept out of the loop until now. She lets it go.

"How do we know it hasn't happened yet?"

Anya picks up the last snow globe and brings it over. "Look. The first one has black ashy stuff swirling in it. That's from the electrocution." She pauses and glances sympathetically over to Xander, whose face is dark and stormy. "And…" she clears her throat. "And then the one with the headless woman had leaves swirling in it. I sold it so we can't look at it again, but I clearly remember because each globe does something different. And then there's this one." Anya shakes the last snow globe. Snow swirls in the space around the brick house, the dog, and the little boy with his snowman and snow fort.

Buffy puts her fingers to her temples and gusts out a big breath. "You think it has to snow first? Before this will happen?" Anya nods.

"That's the general consensus, yes." Giles says. "And not just when it flurries, but when it snows enough for a little boy to make a snowman. Currently, our plan is to track down the boy so we can warn his parents about this dangerous dog. Maybe we can prevent this scenario from coming true. Anya has been looking into the origin of the snow globes, though it's been slow going. I believe we have until the first snow to solve this."

Willow bites her lip. "At first we didn't think about it actually snowing here—I mean, hello, Sunnydale—but it's happened before. And it's been so cold. It might happen again."

Buffy feels a stress headache coming on. She carefully doesn't think about the last time it snowed in Sunnydale. She glances at the clock. "I have to be home when Dawn gets home. What can I do until then?"

Giles hands Tara a Latin to English dictionary. Tara thanks him and sits next to Anya to examine the snow globes amidst some musty old books. "Help Xander," her Watcher tells her. "Try to find out where this boy lives. We know we are looking for a brick house, a toddler, and a shaggy black dog. There's plenty to cross-reference." Though his words are hopeful, Giles' tone reflects the uphill battle this research session is obviously going to be. Buffy sinks down in the chair next to Xander and reaches for a phone book.

Buffy's heart pounds with an urgency she can't follow up on. She gives one more sweeping glance around her neighborhood for a certain brick house before going into her home on Revello Drive. The lights are on, so Dawn must already be home. Guilt blossoms within Buffy. No matter what she does, she can't keep up. Can't be there for Dawn. Can't find the boy. Her protective instincts are screaming, raw inside of her. Save Mom. Save the boy. Save more hikers in the woods. Save everyone and do it quick. You never know when the next one will fall.

Buffy sees Dawn standing in the living room. Her sister is looking out the big picture window with a weird expression on her face. Like she sees something. Buffy walks over and looks out, but nothing is there. She looks back to Dawn and notices the dark circles under her eyes. Poor Dawnie. She obviously isn't sleeping well. Buffy understands. She can't sleep either, with everything that's going on.

"Dawn?" Buffy says gently. Her sister still practically jumps out of her skin.

"Oh, Buffy." Dawn sounds relieved. "You're home."

"Yeah, I'm sorry I missed you getting dropped off. Things are pretty crazy with the slayer stuff right now."

Dawn swallows, "That's okay. I get it."

Buffy's heart warms in sudden affection. Her baby sister is growing up. Buffy is glad she can tell Dawn these things and have her respond like…well, like a friend, and not a little kid.

"Are you doing okay Dawnie? You were pretty out of it when I first came in."

Dawn looks at Buffy with fathomless eyes. "Yeah." Then, hesitantly, "Actually, Buffy, there's something I have to tell you—"

A loud thump shakes the front door. Buffy jumps a little. Dawn jumps a lot.

Buffy quickly puts herself between Dawn and the front door. She grabs a dagger from the drawer she keeps it in by the entryway and carefully moves to the door. With a cautious look back to her sister, whose face has gone white, Buffy whips the door open, dagger held aloft.

Buffy flinches back. The huge dead carcass of some beast lays across her front stoop.

Spike looks up at her from where he's kneeling in front of it. The sky is dark enough from the time of day and the thick roiling clouds that he hasn't even bothered to shield himself from the sky.

Spike flashes her a grin. "Lookie what I found, Slayer."

Buffy is sure her mouth is hanging open. Her hand holding the dagger slowly lowers.

"Spike, what the _hell_ is this?"

He looks mildly affronted. "What do you mean, 'what is this?' Slayer, open your eyes! See? Look," Spike kicks the dead thing so that its extremities flop around. "Backwards feet? Metal claws? Giant beast?"

Buffy looks but her brain is moving so slowly, she can't piece together what her crazy vampire ally is trying to tell her.

Spike throws his hands up in the air, half excited and half frustrated. "Our hiker-eater? The one we've been looking for? Ta-fucking-da!" The level of exasperated sarcasm in his voice is probably unhealthy. "I found it and brought it to you!"

Buffy is incredulous. Yeah, he'd brought it to her. Like a cat proudly bringing her a dead mouse to lay on her pillow. "Spike, this thing can't be at my house."

His face falls slightly. "Why aren't you happier about this?"

"Spike."

"Well, I couldn't just leave it in the woods, now could I? Smells like some Fyarls are what tore it apart. If I'd left it there, who knows what would've dragged 'im off? Figured…" he hesitates. "Don't you people want to see it? Figure it out, and such? Do a happy white-hat dance around him?"

Buffy slices a hand through the air to cut him off. "No, Spike. This is good, really. But you can't bring stuff like this to my house." They regard each other. "Take it to Giles' apartment."

Spike scoffs. "Oh, yeah. That'll go over well."

"And you thought it'd go better here?"

He shrugs sullenly and kicks at the beast again. God, her neighbors were gonna see this if they didn't get their asses into gear.

" _Spike."_

"You have no idea how difficult this was to drag here. Now you want me to haul it across town, again?"

"That's not my problem!" Buffy bursts out, overrun with frustration. She spins on heel and goes back in the house. Dawn peers out and makes a face at the dead thing.

"Ew."

Spike frowns at Buffy's back but tips his head in friendly manner at Dawn. "'Lo, Nibblet."

"Hey, Spike. Did you kill that thing?"

"Nah, just found it dead and brought it here, _way out of my way_ , for big sis." Buffy snorts at his obvious dig and continues rummaging through the hall closet. She pulls out a large tarp.

"Look, can't we just put it in your car or something? Then you can drive it to Giles' without freaking anyone out."

Spike shakes his head. "Can't. Car's in the shop. Breaks have gone out. Bit weird, actually. Those were in damn good shape when I first got to town. Everything goes to shit here."

Dawn stares at him with big eyes. Buffy glares over at Spike and he looks back abashed. "Not the people though! Right tough set, here in old Sunny D."

Dawn hugs herself protectively. She glances nervously out the window again. "Are you guys leaving?" Her voice is small.

Buffy grimaces in sympathy at her sister. Buffy doesn't want to, but she and Spike really need to get that thing back to Giles to check it out. And with all the creepy and nasty stuff they were dealing with snow globe-wise…she didn't want Dawn to have to see that stuff.

"We really need to stay on top of our leads. If we get to the bottom of this, we can save lives." That sounds canned, even to Buffy. She clears her throat, voice softening.

"Look, Dawn. There's a lot of really bad stuff going on that we have to solve. I don't want you to get too involved and I know Mom wouldn't want that either." Lines of stress slash around Buffy's mouth from how tight her expression is.

Dawn gazes upon Buffy's face for a long moment. "Janice's mom invited me over for dinner," she finally says softly.

Buffy grins guiltily. "Perfect! Then you can see Janice and hang out with her!" Buffy knows this is the most excited she's ever sounded over Dawn's annoying little friend. Buffy crosses her fingers that her little sister won't call her on it.

Dawn just nods. "Yeah, I'll just go over now. Will…will you walk me?"

Not for the first time, Buffy wishes she could be paid for the shit she has to put up with. After walking Dawn to Janice's, luckily only about a block away, Buffy meets Spike in the sewers by her house where he is waiting for her with the corpse of the hiker-eater in the tarp. Buffy had put her foot down when he'd suggested just going via the streets. No way was Buffy going to put herself in a situation where she'd have to explain what the hell they were doing dragging around an eight foot bloody, dead monster.

Buffy takes the back end of the tarp and Spike takes the front. He begins leading them through the sewers. Enough light filters down here that Buffy can still see where she's going. Though, she's not sure that's such a good thing. Buffy wrinkles her nose and side-steps an icky looking puddle.

Spike tilts his chin over his shoulder to address her. "Slayer, I gotta warn you…might see some things down these parts that, should we pass them, you need to walk straight past, yeah?"

Buffy glares at him. "You're asking me to look the other way for something?"

Spike adjusts his hold on the tarp. "In a way. Nothing evil, mind you. Just some demon business you don't need to go poking your nose into."

Buffy shakes her hair out of her eyes. "And just what the hell is that supposed to mean? What business?"

Spike groans, "Can't you ever just let it be? Like a dog with a bloody bone, you are."

They walk in silence for a few more minutes while Spike gathers his thoughts and Buffy waits with an expectant air.

"Remember I told you about the Bolargs being hit with a plague that's deadly to their species?"

Buffy does not, though it sounds vaguely familiar.

"Well, it's killed off about ninety percent of their population here in the area. Whenever I come this way through the sewers, I run into more of them having their funeral rites down here."

Buffy makes a face at the back of Spike's bleached head. "Funeral rites?"

Spike tosses her a look. "Yeah, funeral rites. What, you think demons don't have 'em? Most of us experience the life and death cycle just as you humans do, though it effects different species differently."

Buffy chews on that for a bit. The ground slopes down then evens out again. "So, we might see some demons…mourning….and you want me to give them a free pass on the slayage."

Spike snorts. "They don't really need slaying anyway. Just wanted to give you a head's up so you didn't charge in stakes a-blazing without the facts."

"Do they hurt people? I mean, they must. Why shouldn't I slay them?"

"Because they don't really hurt anything, you dozy bint. Don't you read up on different kinds? Wait, forget I even sodding asked that. Listen, the Bolargs are like the vultures of the demon community. They eat the dead. You have them to thank for cleaning up all sorts of unusual carcasses around town. In fact, it's things like the Bolargs that I was worried would take off with our beastie friend here. Must not be getting around to it so fast with their numbers so depleted these days…"

Buffy's honestly never thought about what happens to the dead demons she doesn't dispose of herself. She supposes it makes sense. Like a demon ecosystem.

"Okay. I won't bother them if we see them. Just point out which ones they are so I know."

"You'll know."

Well that sounds pretty ominous.

They keep walking, gait awkward as they maneuver the dead beast around tight corners and up and down slopes. Buffy hopes they are almost there.

"So, why aren't you jumping for joy over my find, Slayer? You were all gung ho about this a few days ago."

Buffy grits her teeth against the memories of the past few days. "Other stuff…kind of more urgent."

Spike is quiet a moment. Then, in an oddly respectful tone, he says, "How's Joyce doing, then?"

Buffy gulps past the lump in her throat. "Still at the hospital. Getting ready to have her…the tumor taken out. They say…they say her chances are better than they would've been even a couple of years ago. Dr. Isaacs said—" Buffy cuts herself off. She doesn't want to talk about this. She's not sure why she's said so much as it is. Maybe because Spike was part of the reason her mom went to the doctor in the first place.

"Dr. Isaacs wants to have the surgery this week."

Spike slows down and turns more fully to Buffy. "Dangerous?"

Buffy swallows and whispers, "I think so."

Spike's eyes reflect strangely in the half-light of the underground, like an animal in the night. "Want me to patrol for you while that's going down?"

Buffy is floored by the offer. "You'd do that?"

Spike shifts on his feet. They've both completely stopped. "Yeah."

"Why? What are you getting out of all this, Spike?"

He ducks his head. There's something oddly vulnerable about his throat, his shoulders. His eyes.

"Just don't like seeing the Summers' women taking it so roughly on the chin, you know?" He turns back around stiffly.

Buffy feels something well up within her. She thinks its gratitude and maybe something else.

"I'd like that. It'd help. You patrolling, I mean." And just how crazy was that? "But there's new stuff going on you need to know about. Stuff that makes Mr. Hiker Eater old news, especially since he's out of the picture."

"There's _more_?" Spike sounds shocked. "Bloody hell! Are things always so busy for you people?"

"Yep."

"What's happening, then?"

Buffy describes the deal with the snow globes as concisely as she can.

"Shit."

"Pretty much."

Spike swings his end of the load down and Buffy drops hers too. She looks up. They are directly beneath a manhole cover. Thank god, the trip is over.

Spike is staring at her intensely. "So now it's balls-to-the-wall for the snow globe thing, is it?"

"Uh, yeah. I wouldn't put it exactly like that, but yeah."

"Christ, Slayer. You're just one girl. How are you supposed to take care of all of this crap?"

"Well, you know. One girl in all the world. I've got the power." Buffy's voice is small and kind of sad. Dammit, she better not cry in front of Spike. "More importantly, I've got great people who help me."

"Still." Spike is looking at her like he's never really seen her before. It makes Buffy's stomach tingle anxiously.

"Alright. I'm going in."

Spike looks into her eyes and prepares to heft the carcass up.

"I'm right here with you."


	9. Chapter 9

Giles is about as pleased as Buffy had been to receive a giant bleeding monster's corpse, but he takes it into his courtyard and promises to take care of it anyway.

Buffy, feeling relieved, prepares herself to go home to an empty house. Dawn had called at Giles' to get permission to stay at Janice's. Buffy agreed to it, despite it definitely violating their mother's, 'no sleepovers on a school night' rule.

Although the thought of the empty house is extremely unappealing to her, Buffy is exhausted and can't wait to curl up in her bed. As she and Spike make their way back to the main road Buffy's stomach growls. Spike flicks her a look out of the corner of his eye. Buffy shifts restlessly. It's cold outside. Maybe in the low forties. Buffy shivers in her sweater.

"Do you want to get some food?" Buffy's mouth asks without her permission.

Spike's face relaxes into this easy smile Buffy's never seen on him before.

"Hell yeah I want food." Well that was easy. "Wherever we go better have wings, though."

They end up at an all-night diner close to the interstate. Spike looks kind of weird to her under the yellow low-hanging lamplight. Trucks and other cars pull in and out of the parking lot, the noise of it a dull roar. Buffy watches the activity through the smudgy window.

She never comes to this side of town, but probably should. Who knows what's been blowing in and out of her town via the interstate.

Buffy turns her gaze back to Spike. He's got his arms stretched to their full wingspan across the back of the booth he's sitting in, head tipped to the side as his eyes sweep the premises. Spike's probably a prime example. Buffy just bets he came screeching into town with his obnoxious old black car.

Spike slightly jerks his eyebrows in a way that somehow says, 'what are you looking at?'

Buffy's looking at Spike. She's looking at this whole damn situation. The two of them sitting in a seedy Sunnydale diner waiting on their food.

It hasn't been that long ago, really, that they'd been trying to kill each other. And not just in the 'we didn't get along, but now we do' metaphorical way, but rather in the 'I want to raze your home and salt the earth with your blood' kind of way. They'd somehow gone from that to splitting an order of cheese fries. It is just this side of mind boggling.

Although, Anya and Xander somehow manage a similar dynamic just fine.

The sex probably helps.

She really needs a distraction from this line of thought.

The waitress returns with their food. "Here you go, sir. And a soup for your lady."

Spike laughs. "She's not a lady."

Buffy scowls at him. That wasn't the correction he'd needed to make.

"Oh, quit your pouting Slayer. Just eat your damn food. Might put you in a better mood."

Buffy childishly rips into her crackers in a way that scatters a bunch of crumbs over to his side of the table. "Gee, Spike. You're a poet and didn't know it."

He clams right up at that. Huh. Maybe she should whip out her Dawn-isms more often.

Spike digs into his spicy buffalo wings and Buffy into her chicken noodle soup. Buffy feels like the soup thaws her extremities as well as her bad mood. Maybe Spike was onto something after all. Buffy can't actually remember the last time she's eaten properly. No wonder she's been testy.

Still, Buffy doesn't want to drive off the one person who's keeping her company tonight. She wrangles her frayed emotions and struggles for a subject change.

Some deep-voiced country dude is singing about Folsom Prison in the background. Spike drums his fingers on the table and bounces his leg. The table shakes from it, the hyperactive bastard.

Buffy reaches for her half of the fries. Spike pushes the cheesy fries closer to Buffy when he sees how quickly she's inhaled her soup.

"Who's this?" she asks, curiously.

Spike closes his eyes and clenches his jaw a moment. After inhaling deeply through his nose and letting the unneeded breath go he grits out, "Johnny Cash, Slayer. Educate yourself."

"I'm educated. Just not in country music." She considers Spike for a moment. "I thought you liked annoying shouty music. Punk stuff."

Spike gives her a superior look. "I'm multi-dimensional, sweetheart. And I can like more than one genre, you know. Punk wasn't always around. Cash is a storyteller and I happen to like stories." He licks the grease off his fingers.

What a weird vampire. Maybe all vampires are this weird and…multi-dimensional…and Buffy just doesn't realize it cuz her interactions with them are typically short and to the point. Literally.

Buffy doesn't like wondering if the vampires she kills without batting an eye have as much personality as Spike does.

Buffy pokes half-heartedly at her plate.

"Did you ever check out the crumbling crypt thing?" Buffy finds herself asking.

Spike is spooning some kind of spicy nonsense onto his fries. His brow furrows. "Yeah. It actually went down the way those dramatic buggers said, too. Solid, stone crypt just crashed down at the worst possible moment for that nest. Just a pile of dust left. Wasn't the only one to do so either. I've heard of it happening again in a different graveyard across town."

Buffy frowns, suddenly concerned. Spike might be a jerky pain in the ass, but he is _their_ jerky pain in the ass, and basically part of Buffy's team. Therefore, his business is Buffy's business. "What if that happens to your crypt? Aren't you worried?"

Spike just shrugs. He licks the spicy sauce off his spoon way too provocatively, in Buffy's opinion. Was that really necessary? "Nah, I've got a lower level where I do my sleeping. Shouldn't be a problem. I'd be shielded from the sun down there."

He does? First Buffy's heard of it.

"Okay, but what about when you're watching your lame TV shows? That's a total danger zone."

Spike's eyes refocus on her with a sudden intensity. "I'm not worried, Slayer." His eyes dance at her, mockingly. "Are you?"

Buffy shrugs. "You did just promise to patrol for me this week. You can't go dusting on me yet."

Spike snorts. "Ah, right, of course."

They finish eating. This time the silence is companionable.

"Maybe you should invest in an apartment or something." Buffy says out of nowhere. Spike looks over at her in surprise.

"Still on that, are you?"

Buffy shrugs and picks at her napkin.

Spike's mouth twitches. "I'll look into it. Might be nice, having proper electrical hookup."

"Okay."

"Fine, then."

They pay then leave the diner and begin meandering back towards Revello Drive.

"Keep an eye out for the brick house, okay?"

Spike gives her an incredulous look. "Sure. There's three right there."

"Jackass. You know what I mean."

"Actually, I don't. Gonna need more detail than that."

"It's single story. Um, it has a chimney." Spike snorts. Buffy soldiers on. "There's a big tree in the backyard. The shutters are white. There was a wooden fence on the one side."

"Okay…still pretty vague there, Slayer."

"You'd have to see the snow globe, I guess. You can only see the scene from the back yard. And lots of stuff was covered in snow."

"Unhelpful."

"Tell me about it."

"Hey, if I find this house for you, are you gonna stick your prissy princess nose up in the air and be ungrateful again?"

Buffy exhales heavily. Her breath is visible in the crisp night air.

" _Thank you_ , Spike, for bringing me a stinky dead demon. I really appreciate it."

Spike smirks. "Now was that so hard?"

"Yes."

He laughs. They prowl around, taking long circular routes to get back, taking the time to check each single-story brick house they come across. Buffy makes a mental note of where they've been so she can mark it off on the map Xander has pinned up at the Magic Box.

They don't find the house. Buffy is shivering hard by the time her house is in sight. Spike squints at her. "What's wrong with you?"

"It's cold." Right. Vampire. He wouldn't notice, would he?

Understanding dawns over Spike's features. He shakes his head at her. "Wear something warm next time, you silly bint."

"Wh-what's a bint?" Her teeth are chattering now.

"…a nice young lady." He is such a liar. And a really bad one, too. Buffy fumbles with numb fingers to unlock her house. Spike takes the key from her and does it for her when she slips up the third time.

The dark empty house yawns open beyond the door. Buffy misses her mom.

Spike peers in. "You alright, then?" He looks back to her dubiously. Like he knows what she's thinking.

"Yep." Damn, she's so cold. Gonna have to turn the heater up. "Later, Spike."

"Ta." Spike leaves with one last lingering look over his shoulder.

The silence is deafening in Buffy's house. She suddenly feels extremely bad for Dawn, for any and all hours her sister has had to spend here alone. Buffy hunches her shoulders and trudges off to bed.

Joyce occasionally has to share her room with other patients. The hospital has been very overrun recently. Lots of freak accidents and sickness. The medical staff are being run ragged. But Joyce doesn't mind sharing her room. It gives her someone to talk to and that helps her keep her mind off of her upcoming surgery, the one Dr. Isaacs suggested they have in only a few more days.

Joyce pushes her fear away. It's getting harder and harder to do that. She isn't ready for this. No one is ever ready for these kinds of things. Life threatening illness, life threatening surgery. Joyce can't help but worry about everything left undone. Her gallery, her pride and joy, who will take care of that this week? And after this week? Her mind shies from the thought. She ruthlessly forces it back on track, to the more important concerns. Who will take care of her girls? Buffy has barely begun adulthood. Her incredible first-born has been handling matters beyond even Joyce's reckoning for years. But what about Dawn? Not even in high school, yet. Oh her baby. Both her babies. Joyce's thoughts circle. She's met with her attorney, she's met with Mr. Giles. She's spoken with her sister and now she's going to need to speak with Buffy. Joyce has been put in the unsavory position of needing to set up a plan. Joyce has had plans in place, but she'd needed to update those plans when her malignant tumor was confirmed. These new plans are secondary to Joyce's plan A—which is to kick this tumor's ass and get back on her feet.

Joyce Summers is not the kind of woman who lays about in bed waiting for fate to claim her. She had been once, in the aftermath of her and Hank's divorce, but never again. Never.

Joyce turns her head to see if her new roommate is awake. The nurses have told her that the woman in the second bed is in her 20's, but Joyce can scarcely believe it. The woman's name is Patricia and she looks like she could be closer to 50. Her hair is streaked prematurely gray and her eyes are sunken in. Stress lines fracture Patricia's face and the blue of her veins stands out clearly in her pale arms. The only youthful thing Joyce can see about Patricia is the trendy slanting H that has been tattooed on the back of both the woman's hands.

Patricia sleeps on. Joyce turns her eyes to the clock, counting down the hours until her girls are done with school and can visit her again.

Outside her window, snow begins to fall.

Xander is the one who finds the house. The Scoobies had taken the remaining streets and split up to pound the pavement and find the brick home.

Xander never wants to see another brick house for the rest of his life. Today alone, they've been searching for five hours already.

Worth it though. The feeling Xander gets when he gives the boy's parents a "public service announcement" about dangerous dog attacks does not absolve him of the guilt he feels over Rob and Paul's deaths, but it mitigates it, some.

Xander had been ready to call it quits and head back to the Magic Box to warm up when he saw a young boy standing on the front stoop of a single story brick house, face tipped up to the sky, tongue sticking out to catch the snowflakes. The boy was bundled up in a familiar dark blue coat. White shutters. Fence. Tree. And a black shaggy dog barking madly inside the house through the window at Xander.

"We have a vet appointment for our dog already set for next week," the father had told Xander. "Harley's just been acting weird lately."

Xander talked out of his ass about distemper, mad dog disease, rabies, whatever came to his mind, probably making some of it completely up—on and on until the man threw his hands up in defeat and brought the dog out to the family van to take him to the vet.

Xander jogged through the slippery fine layer of snow back to the Magic Box like a returning champion.

Cue the spontaneous group hug. It'd been a rough few weeks, and Xander's success is a balm to everyone's spirits. Willow and Tara start heating up hot chocolate for all the freezing Scoobies.

Giles suggests staying in contact with the family to find out what the vet says about the dog. "The last thing we need is to let events slip through our fingers at this critical stage." The Brit grabs the phonebook to do it himself.

Anya finally gets off the phone with the warlock who had apparently made the bases for all of the snow globes.

Buffy stands, legs set in a wide strong stance behind where Willow and Tara sit at the round table. They wait for Anya's news with interest.

"Well. _His_ answers only spawned more questions."

"Uh, oh." Willow says nervously.

"No. No uh, oh. What did he say Ahn?" Xander says, refusing to let his good mood be ruined.

"Apparently, the snow globes this guy makes are like crystal balls in that they only _reflect_ events. He says he didn't weave in any causality."

A tiny crease furrows between Willow's eyes. "That's pretty much what Tara and I found out when we checked the globes over."

Xander raises his hand, "And that means…what, exactly?"

Willow answers, "It means that these deaths were going to happen and the snow globes picked up on it. Then, they reflected it by manifesting each scene in each globe. It means they aren't causing it."

"Can we trust this warlock guy?" Buffy asks.

Anya nods. "He's clean."

Giles taps his chin. "Strange, that the nature of the events so precisely followed a pattern, and without any outside influence, such as an on-hand mage manipulating the energies. That makes these globes unusually accurate, especially if they are self-operating."

Buffy frowns. "What about Ethan?"

Tara shakes her head. "He would need to be with the snow globes to m-manipulate the energy. But he's b-been long gone, hasn't he?"

Giles sits, heavily.

Anya comes over to the table. "From what I understand, these are made with high quality craftsmanship. So, you know, not the average crystal ball. But the globes are meant to specifically reflect _mystical_ disturbances."

Giles hums thoughtfully. "Could it be that they simply picked up on the energy of the Hellmouth?"

Buffy joins the group at the table. "I don't know, Giles. There have been _a lot_ of accidents that haven't really been accidents, if you know what I mean. Different than the usual Hellmouth-y badness. The woman who lost her head and the line workers? If we hadn't seen it beforehand, we wouldn't even know that those accidents were—"

"Mystical," Giles finishes. "Odd. So it seems something else is to blame for all of this."

The group sits in a stewing silence.

"Spike says that demons are having accidents, too." Buffy says slowly, thinking out loud.

"Really?" Giles looks, if possible, even more disturbed. "How so?"

"Demons getting some plague. Crypts falling apart. Tunnels collapsing. That sort of thing."

Giles rests his tightly clasped hands together on the table. "And so we are back to Ethan."

"Huh? How do you figure that, Giles?" Willow asks.

"Chaos. That's what it's all boiling down to. Buffy's right. It's been more subtle this time, appearing as accidents, but really it has been chaos all along. The fact that it seems to be effecting demons as well as humans just further supports my theory. Chaos makes no distinction between species." Giles looks frustrated.

"Finding Ethan must now be our top priority."

Buffy must make some panicked face at this because Giles says, "But of course, Buffy, your top priority is your family this week. Leave Ethan to me."

"But Giles—"

"No. If I require additional help, Willow, Xander, Tara, and Anya have all made themselves available for this task. Be with your mother this week, Buffy."

Feeling as though she is shirking her duty, Buffy nods at last.


	10. Chapter 10

Accursed Chapter 10

Joyce petitions to be allowed home for the last two days before her surgery and wins.

Buffy tries not to feel overwhelmed by the doctor's instructions for home-care. There are warning signs to watch out for, there is medication to be given. Dr. Isaacs had also warned Buffy that her mom's tumor would be pressing on her brain, causing her to say and do strange things.

This ends up being the worst part. Joyce will seem fine one moment and the next: "You look like your father when you cry."

Then it was, "Don't eat that, you're already too fat." And _then_ their mom didn't even recognize Dawn as her own daughter.

By the end of the first night with Joyce home, Buffy and Dawn are understandably nerve-wracked and emotionally distraught.

Dawn curls up with Buffy on the couch to watch old movies after they help Joyce to bed. Dawn keeps nodding off every few minutes or so and eventually, Buffy prods Dawn up the stairs to go to sleep, too. As they get closer to Dawn's room, both girls stop when they hear their mom muttering to herself agitatedly. Dawn wordlessly turns around and looks up at Buffy with wide wet eyes. Buffy spontaneously hugs her sister. Dawn clutches her back, with uncharacteristic neediness.

After Dawn goes to her room and shuts her door, Buffy creeps closer to her mom's room to listen. Joyce's voice is a strange combination of fear, anger, and pleading. Almost tearful.

"…angel…stay away…my daughters…don't you dare!...Oh, god, _why_ …angel…"

Buffy flees back downstairs.

Spike stands in front of the Summers' home, one hand shoved deep in his duster pocket and the other flicking his lighter open and shut, over and over.

The little witches had come by earlier to bring him up to speed on the snow globe situation. Scoobies save the day again, beating the odds, blah blah blah. Spike's just glad to not have such a constraining time limit hanging overhead anymore. Enough damn stuff going on without running around town like chickens with their heads cut off.

Spike has just finished a sweep of the main hotspots that the Slayer likes to patrol. He'd come by to let her know how it went, as agreed upon beforehand. Control freak.

Spike wonders how Joyce is faring. He strains to hear activity inside the house, but it's pretty quiet. Nibblet sounds like she might be tossing and turning in her bed and Joyce is resting, but awake in her room. As for the Slayer…

Spike becomes suddenly and uncomfortably aware of the sounds of Buffy Summers crying on her back porch. Nothing excessive, just quietly miserable sniffling and choked back whimpers.

He strongly considers turning around and pretending he'd never come here.

He finds himself winding around to the back of the house anyway.

She's sitting on the back steps, arms hugging her knees, face pressed into the cradle of her arms. Despite the thin crunchy layer of snow, Spike's moving pretty stealthily. She still looks up, pinning him with her gaze. Tears shine on her cheeks in the moonlight.

Spike's stomach twists uncomfortably. "Ay. Finished patrol. Was dead out there tonight. Halloween, you know."

Buffy wipes her tears away with small, subtle movements. "Kay. Good."

Shit. Crying women. Spike's drawn to it like a moth to a flame. That strange old caregiver instinct has him saying, "What's wrong?" before he even realizes he wants to know. That he wants whatever is making her cry to stop so she won't be so unhappy. Awful, seeing the Slayer like this. Broken in battle? Glorious. Broken by life? Fuckin depressing. Buffy Summers is worth so much more than an end like that. Spike…he doesn't actually want to see her fall down that path. The one all Slayers eventually reach when they've lived long enough.

Joyce. Must be Joyce.

Buffy's pressed her mouth into a thin line. Her entire face is tightly controlled, no emotion except for one dead giveaway. Her eyes have gone huge and wet and distant. Shit, shit, shit. Why does this make him feel so terrible?

Spike moves closer and closer until he's right next to her. He cautiously sits beside her. "How's Joyce, then?"

"Resting." Buffy whispers.

"Sounded awake to me."

She looks at him then quickly away again. Spike doesn't know where to put his eyes or his hands. He alternates between looking straight forward and straight at her. His hands clench into fists then relax.

Buffy stares at the frosty ground with unfocused eyes. "She's been saying things. The tumor makes her say and do weird stuff. It's not easy to listen to, but it's not her fault. I don't think she knows what she's even saying."

Spike frowns. "What's she been saying?"

Buffy shrugs, a little. "She asked who Dawn was and why a thing like her was in our house. She called me fat. She said I looked like my dad when I cry. Stuff like that."

Spike winces a little. Distant memories of an old parlor room blur in his mind's eye, then fade away again. "S'not her talking. That's not your mum, you know that? What she's saying…it's not her. Joyce wouldn't think that, normally."

Buffy's voice is small. "I don't know that. I don't think she would, but maybe…maybe somewhere deep down, the tumor is making her talk about things she's thought before but has never said. To—to spare our feelings, maybe."

Spike clasps his hands on his knees. "Oh, I doubt that. Calling little Bit a thing? Calling you fat? Yeah, right. Slayer, that's not your mum talking and you know it. What's got you so upset? It's gotta be something else, something worse. You've got thicker skin than this."

Buffy looks at him. She's calmed down, some, talking to him. Bottling it up, putting on a brave face for Dawn and her mom, it makes it all so much harder. Spike knows she can handle her shit even if she loses her cool once in a while, and that actually makes him easier to talk to. He's a surprisingly good listener.

"Mom's so upset by whatever she's seeing or thinking about. I hate seeing her like that."

"Yeah, that's rough. And?"

"And _what_?" Buffy says with a hint of attitude.

"And what else has got your knickers in a twist? You've got that martyr look on again."

Buffy hugs herself. Why she chose to sit outside, she doesn't know. Maybe because the cold clears her thoughts. Without letting herself think too hard on it, Buffy finally puts words to the horror she'd felt hearing her mom muttering to herself.

"I heard her talking about Angel."

The quiet night settles between them.

"And Joyce sounded upset." Statement, not a question.

Buffy feels her throat start to close up. "Yeah," she says hoarsely. "She sounded pretty upset. Like," Buffy swallows trying to ease her speech again. "Like afraid."

"Angelus isn't for the faint of heart. Not that Joyce really falls into that category, but could see why it'd bother her. Thinkin' on him. What's it got to do with you?"

He watches Buffy's breaths puff out in white wisps faster and faster as she gets worked up again.

"You really don't know? Maybe you wouldn't. Angelus came around scaring my friends and family. _Angelus_ was my mom's first real impression of Angel. And he frightened her. When Angel came back to me, Mom didn't like it, but she never said that much to me. I mean, I knew she didn't want him around, but she never talked about how he made her feel." Buffy gulps back more tears. "I heard her tonight though. She's still scared of him. She's still worried about him hurting me…hurting Dawn. He's on her mind in a bad way and that's hurting _her_."

Spike's unusually quiet, letting her work through her thoughts out loud. He stares steadily at her, silently inviting her to lay it on him.

Buffy's chest hurts, like her heart is being squeezed in a vice. "Mom would _never_ have had this pain in her life if it wasn't for me. If I wasn't so stupid and if I hadn't done what I did. How long has he bothered her? I never knew. I never even considered. At the time, all I thought about was myself. And I try so hard not to think about him now. Just because I forgave Angel, just because I swept all of that aside, doesn't mean everyone else did. I know Giles _still_ suffers. That's on me forever, what h-happened." Her voice breaks. Buffy's just talking now, almost to herself, words pouring out of her. "But my mom, too? And probably Dawnie, God. They don't talk to me about him, not really. Is Angel something that keeps my mom up at night? Well," her voice turns bitter. "He is tonight." Tears trickle down her cheeks, but they stem more from a kind of horrified, self-directed anger. "Aren't things bad enough, without Mom unable to sleep because she's so worried about him? About an evil I brought into her life, into her home?" Buffy swipes angrily at her tears. "I can't fix it now. I can't go back and do things differently. I just have to live with this. It's just…what if…what if Mom's surgery goes bad?" Horrible saying it out loud. Giving it a voice, that thing no one has said yet. The words feel like a physical thing, dark and scrabbling and alive as they leave her mouth. "What if she doesn't make it?" A sob catches on her next breath. "What if she dies and her last nights on earth were spent sleepless and scared because of _Angel_! Because of _me_!" Buffy's crying in earnest now, quiet choked sobs. Her whole body wracks with the force of them.

Spike is floored. How can so much misery and worry and martyrdom exist in such a small body? How does she not explode from the force of it?

"Slayer…" Buffy gives no indication that she can hear him. "Slayer. Buffy." Spike shakes her shoulder. She stares at him with agonized eyes. He can practically see her playing out this possible future through her brain like a movie on repeat. Joyce, out of her mind over Angel straight up until her surgery and dying on the operating table. Christ.

"Stop! Snap the fuck out of it, will you?" His harsh words work to bring her focus back on him. She looks pissed. This is a dangerous spot he's put himself in. Should tread carefully.

Yeah, fuck that.

"You've jumped right to the worst-case scenario. Get over yourself. Joyce is a tough lady. Maybe she had a bad moment. It's not a big deal. Maybe the next one will be better. Either way, if it's Angelus she's upset over, that's not your fault, it's his! When will you get that? It's on him, not you!"

"Shut up! What do you know? How dare you talk to me like that. You don't know me, Spike. You didn't know my relationship with Angel and you sure as hell don't know anything about my mother! Don't tell me it's not a big deal! This is a big deal!"

Spike had actually gotten ahead of himself somewhat. Not really his fault, he's made this sort of argument before. Many, many, _many_ times. It's a subject he's pretty bitter over.

"You think you're the only one that feels like this? Angelus barely scratched the surface with you. What do you think it's been like for Dru, huh? You think this is the first time I've sat with a girl who's crying over what that fucker did to her and hers?"

Stricken, Buffy goes paler and abruptly silent. Yeah, that threw her off, didn't it? And fuck, this all escalated quickly. Better reel this in before she starts using her stake instead of her words.

Also, he'd actually meant to make her feel better, not worse. First time for that. Used to be aiming for the exact opposite. Figures he'd hurt her now when he didn't intend to.

Forcing gentleness into his tone, Spike tries again. "Look, all I'm saying is, you're borrowing trouble. It's not all about you or even all about that poofter. Just cause Joyce got bent out of shape over him doesn't mean things have gotta stay that way. You can take her mind off it. Change the subject. Talk about other, happier shit. Doesn't have to be such a big nightmare for you."

Buffy's eyes might be on him, but her gaze goes through him. Disconnected.

"You're right." The words come, as if from very far away. "I overreacted."

Spike pinches himself to make sure he isn't dreaming.

Buffy puts her face in her hands. "God, I'm so tired. I just…I want this to be done. I want Mom to be better. I want to sleep at night. I want my family back to normal."

Yeah, Spike's noticed the Slayer's obsession with normal.

She inhales deeply and shivers.

"Not dressed for the weather, once again." Spike says dryly.

Moving right along.

"I know, I just had to get out. Get some fresh air."

"Think you've gotten it."

Buffy's nose and ears are red from the cold. She sniffles again, more from a runny nose than true upset. She looks at him and it's like a weight has been lifted off of her. Buffy actually feels lighter. That had been…strangely cathartic. Nothing's been solved, but it feels more worked out, now that she's said it out loud. Spike, asshole that he was about it, did make a couple good points. Sometimes Buffy needs someone to tell her the truth as they see it, no bullshit. She doesn't even have to agree with what he'd said. Just hearing him NOT baby her has helped immensely.

A corner of her mouth turns up. "Thanks for coming by, Spike. I half-expected you to blow me off and just go home after you patrolled."

"To my crumbling crypt? Perish the thought."

"That's not funny."

Spike smirks, relieved for a return to lightheartedness. The less said about his poofter of a grandsire the better, really.

Buffy rubs her hands together, "So really, what did you run into tonight?"

Bugger. Take her mind off her problems and now he's got to give a fucking report. Figures.

Inside, Dawn tosses and turns in her bed. She can hear her mom's voice through her bedroom wall. Even though she can't make out the words, the tone is clear. Her mom is freaked out by whatever her brain is showing her now. It's almost like the woman next door isn't even Dawn's mom. Just some lady who talks to herself and says strange, rude things. Like a…like a bag lady.

Dawn wonders if her mom would be able to see Dawn's monster stalker now. Though it hasn't been around all day.

Dawn's had plenty of opportunities now to talk to Buffy about that Cousin It thing. But her sister is so obviously stressed about Mom and Slayer stuff that Dawn can't bring it up. She won't be the one to add more things for Buffy to worry about. Dawn's been handling things fine on her own up until now.

She'll tell Buffy about the creature after their mom's surgery. That will be way better timing.

Through the wall, Dawn hears her mom's voice crescendo with anxiety and then finally quiet down. Thank god.

Dawn puts a pillow over her head and tries to sleep.

In Joyce's room, Joyce keeps on arguing. Not the kind of woman to lay around in bed and wait for fate to claim her, not a chance.

"…my daughters still need me. Don't you dare do this to me now! I'm not ready to go. I don't care if you're an angel from on high, I'm not done here yet! I'm not going anywhere, do you hear me?"

Joyce addresses the being to her right. She could've spoken to the one at the foot of her bed or even the one by the window. But the angelic being to her right is hovering, black feathered wings flexing. This one seems to be in more of a hurry.

Three bland faces stare at her stonily, as mute as they were when first crawling in Joyce's bedroom window.

"I'm telling you, I'm not going." The angelic figure next to her extends a hand.

"Don't you touch me! Angels or not, heaven-bound or not, I'm not ready so I won't be going with you. Now, please! _Get away from me!"_


	11. Chapter 11

Buffy stands and brushes off the back of her pants. "Thanks again for patrolling, Spike."

"Yeah, yeah. Said I would, even though there's hardly a point on Halloween night."

"Oh, I've heard all about how Halloween is supposed to be demon-free. And yet, every year, somehow I'm kept pretty busy."

"Well, demons have definitely gone to ground this year. Too much going wrong, everyone's circled the sodding wagons."

Buffy shivers in the chill air. "At least that's one thing going right."

Spike gives her a rakish half-grin, honestly relieved that the night hadn't ended with him a pile of dust at an emotionally unstable Slayer's hand.

"I can't do this," Joyce's voice floats to them from above.

On the back porch, under the overhang, Spike and Buffy's heads swing together to look to each other at the same time.

As one, they rush down the steps and look up to the second story where Joyce's bedroom window faces the backyard.

Joyce stands barefoot in her open windowsill looking out into the night. She is supported on either side by two humanoid beings with large black wings. A third emerges from behind her to unhurriedly place its hands over Joyce's ears.

"MOM!" Buffy screams from the yard. Joyce appears to not hear her daughter.

"Are you sure it's safe?" Joyce asks.

The front two winged beings had turned their expressionless gazes down towards Buffy and Spike at the horrified scream. They disregard Buffy completely and turn back to lift Joyce up from under her arms.

"Spike!" Buffy shouts over her shoulder as she tears back into the house ripping the kitchen door open.

"On it!" Spike hollers back, face tipped up to track Joyce and the winged beings. He backs up to get a better look, eyes never leaving Buffy's nightgown-clad mother.

Buffy races up the stairs and bursts into her mom's room, hurling herself at the windows but it's too late.

The flying creatures had already carried her mother too far away from the roof for Buffy to follow, even if she were to fling herself at them at full speed.

" _Mom_! Spike, stay with her!" Buffy shouts out the window and turns around to run back downstairs. She almost smacks into her sister in their mom's doorway.

Buffy gets a brief impression of Dawn's huge scared eyes before she's pushing past her. Buffy leaps down the stairs calling over her shoulder to Dawn, voice short and commanding: "Lock yourself in! Call Giles!"

Buffy grabs the only weapon laying out she can easily snatch up, the dagger from the entryway.

Buffy runs out to the backyard and immediately searches the sky for her mother and the three winged humanoids in dark robes flying off with her.

She can't find them.

Buffy's heart is slamming into her chest when she hears Spike call for her.

"Slayer!" He's over in the street already a few houses down.

Buffy runs to him feet slipping slightly on the frosted ground. She hadn't been wearing shoes when she'd gone to sit on the porch earlier. Now she gives chase in thick woolen socks.

Spike doesn't look at her when she pulls up even to him, his eyes still glued to the angelic figures holding her mom maybe twenty, thirty feet up in the air now.

Spike stumbles over a grinning jack o lantern, boot smashing it in as he runs down the sidewalk without paying much attention to what's on the ground in front of him.

"She's too high up!" Buffy pants at Spike's elbow.

Their quarry executes a gradual turn, powerful wings flapping slow and steady, carrying Joyce farther and faster away, now cutting overhead the neighborhood block.

Obstacles slow the pair following. Buffy and Spike give chase through someone's backyard, dodging Halloween decorations and vaulting over a fence.

"No, God no!" Buffy chokes out as they fall farther and farther behind. They spill out into the street again.

Spike grabs her arm and drags her down a side street, which takes them the wrong direction.

"Let go!" Buffy cries out, shaking him off violently.

"We're losing them this way! C'mon I've an idea!" Spike runs along the road, head whipping back and forth as he checks each driveway.

Torn, Buffy hesitates watching her mother taken farther away off to her left and Spike's furious hunt in front of her.

She's just about to say hell with it and go without him when Spike skids to a stop beside a motorcycle parked in a driveway. It's been covered with a tarp so Buffy doesn't recognize it until Spike tears off the covering and begins messing with it.

Wheels. Yes, wheels.

Buffy waits for him in the street, eyes straining to keep her mother in her sights. She hears the bike roar to life and approach her.

When he pulls up next to her, Buffy swings her leg over the bike and wraps her arms around Spike's stomach, shouting, "Go, go, go!" in his ear before she's even settled.

He goes.

The bike screeches down the slippery road, wheels out of control for a few moments until they gain purchase and speed forward.

For a terrifying few minutes, Buffy thinks they've lost them.

Spike turns down another road and all of a sudden Joyce is right ahead again. The third winged creature turns to view the pair on the bike below briefly then continues on behind the other two carrying Joyce.

Something about the robes, the bland sexless faces, the long tied-back hair, the _wings…_ Buffy is reminded of angels.

Oh god.

Her mom hadn't been talking about Angel, but angels. And Buffy had been right there outside of her room.

A sick thrill of fear shoots through her.

But Buffy's slayer instincts don't fail her now. She stays as calm as possible, focused only on balancing on the bike behind Spike, who expertly navigates the icy slick streets and stays right on their tail.

Buffy grits her teeth.

Eventually, these bastards have to land and when they do…

Nobody messes with Buffy's family.

Buffy's senses have sharpened to pinpoint focus. Her eyes burn slightly from how hard she stares at the dark winged figures surrounding her mom up in the air. Joyce is a bright light in their midst. Joyce's light hair and white bandages, her pale nightgown which covers everything but her face, hands, and feet…she looks unearthly. Radiant. Her face is turned up as if watching something get nearer.

Buffy squints around Spike's shoulder.

Something _is_ getting nearer.

Spike leans the bike around a curve which takes them along a wider older road that runs along the edge of a stone-walled creek. Past the stream, which is bisected with a couple of wide foot bridges, are open fields that lead to a forest's edge.

Far, far above where the clearing meets the trees is a bright slash of light in the dark night sky.

The angelic figures appear to be heading straight for it.

"Shit!" Spike shouts, revving the bike to go faster. As they get closer, Buffy realizes the slash of light is more like a tunnel of light….a portal?

The panic Buffy has held off until now slams into her full force.

For days, Buffy's been quietly falling apart over the thought of losing her mom to the shadow in her brain. And now, something has come to physically steal her away. Away, beyond where Buffy can reach her.

The winged figures make a slow arc over the creek.

"Spike, Spike, you have to get closer!" Buffy's breaths burst harshly from her. " _They aren't going to land."_

How were they going to get to her?

"Hold on!" Spike urges the bike past the first foot bridge and Buffy's panic ratchets up.

What was he doing? They had to get over there. They had to catch them before those things took her mom into the swirling light.

"Get ready!" Spike shouts.

For what?

As soon as the bike is directly across from Joyce, Spike turns it to drive straight at the short wall dividing street from stream.

In a flash, Buffy understands he means to ram the bike and send her flying.

She shifts, preparing to launch.

With a horrible crunch, Buffy is airborne.

She flies through the air, dagger pointed out, and barely catches the blade tip into the calf of the third creature.

It sinks in and rips down. Buffy grabs its leg with her free hand and climbs it like a tree, grabbing black prickly feathers for purchase.

The thing twists in her grip, midair. Its bland features glare out intensely. Inhumanly beautiful and vague. Its eyes are black. It opens its mouth and a horrible whispery scream hisses off its forked tongue.

Not angelic. Demonic. Its eyes are red now and it slashes at her with talon like fingers.

Buffy cuts its throat.

A silvery mist sprays out and its head tips back, half-decapitated.

Buffy springs from its descending body onto the back of the creature holding her mom's left side.

She buries the dagger as deeply as she can between its ribs. Buffy reaches an arm out to grab hold of Joyce's shoulders. Joyce is unnaturally calm.

Buffy's left hand grips the dagger which sticks firmly in the screeching demon and hugs her mom to her with her right arm.

The four of them, two creatures and two humans drop in the air in stops and jerks. Joyce cries out for the first time, in alarm. The wings of the right creature beat frantically to make up for the dead weight of the other three.

It slows their decent, but they do descend.

Several feet above the open clearing, Buffy kicks out at the injured creature, sending it careening to the snowy ground, and swings her free arm around to fully hug her mom.

They hit the ground, Buffy taking the brunt of the fall.

The last winged demon yowls and rears back to attack.

A black and white form blurs past and tackles it to the ground.

Spike, somehow ok and caught up, rolls with the creature and wrestles with it. Buffy has to release her mom and return her focus to the second creature which had risen to its feet while Buffy was distracted.

It stares with a terrible blank face at Buffy and the fight raging behind her.

"You. Cannot. Have her." Buffy's voice is steel.

The thing stretches its rumpled wings and holds one hand to its bleeding side.

It slowly beats its wings until it hovers above them then begins to fly away to the light.

A screech behind Buffy indicates the end of the other fight. The one Spike fought joins the other in the air. Silvery blood drips to the ground in its wake. They fly into the tunnel of light, getting smaller and farther away.

Buffy becomes aware of a ringing church bell.

The light disappears after the last bell tolls and the night is wrapped in quiet darkness once more.

Joyce lays crying quietly on the snow frosted ground. Buffy staggers over and falls to her knees beside her mom, flinging her arms around her in a desperate hug.

"Buffy," her mom whispers, trembling. "I thought I was dying."

Buffy feels tears on her own cheeks though she doesn't remember crying.

Joyce continues in a soft, confused voice, "I thought angels were taking me to heaven."

"No." Buffy says. No dying. No angels. No heaven.

Spike collapses on Joyce's other side.

His black shirt has been clawed up at the collar and blood runs down the side of his face. He's cradling one arm protectively against his side. His nose looks like it's been broken and reset. Blood runs over his top lip.

Buffy remembers that Spike must have crashed with the bike.

"Don't know what the fuck those things were but they weren't angels, that's for sure." Spike coughs wetly. "Demonic energy all over those fuckers. And _shit_. Did you see that portal? Pardon me, Joyce." Spike belatedly says of his swearing, something Joyce has taken issue with in the past.

Joyce stares at Spike with wide eyes. "Are you okay? You're hurt."

Spike wordlessly indicates he's fine.

He reaches a hand to Joyce's temple, where Buffy sees now the hospital bandage has spotted with blood at the incision site. Spike looks to Buffy with worried eyes. Buffy clutches her mom tighter, maybe too tight, she realizes as Joyce gasps out. Quickly relaxing her grip, Buffy says, " _Mom_. Are _you_ okay?"

Joyce nods faintly. Buffy thinks her mom must be in shock. Buffy is pretty shocked herself.

The three of them hobble to their feet together, Joyce supported between Buffy and Spike. They slowly make their way across the field and over one of the bridges. Buffy's be-socked feet are wet and freezing. She can't imagine what her mom's bare feet feel like.

As they cross the street to a residential area, the front door to one of the houses swings open and a large man hefting a baseball bat comes down the porch steps.

Spike swears under his breath as their progress is halted.

The man drops the bat when he gets a good look at them.

"Are you people okay? I heard all sorts of commotion, thought it might've been hooligans high on some Halloween spirit."

Spike may look like a hooligan but he also looks hurt.

Buffy's been mistaken for a hooligan before but she can see the man dismiss that possibility with one glance at her torn woolen purple socks.

Joyce just looks like a nice respectable woman in her nightgown. Perhaps a bit dotty with the head bandage and the shock. Joyce's bare feet peek out from under the hem of her nightclothes.

The man shakes his head. "Want me to call an ambulance?" he asks with a dubious look at Spike. "Aw, hell, come in and warm up. Where are your shoes ladies? We're having record cold weather here, in case you haven't noticed."

They all shuffle their way inside the Good Samaritan's home.

"If we could borrow your phone, we can get a ride home," Buffy says hoarsely.

"Yeah, of course." The guy doesn't ask too many questions, obviously a Sunnydale native. Buffy's honestly surprised that anyone came out to investigate at all. She looks sidelong at Spike, the vampire this man unknowingly invited into his home. Spike is leaning heavily against the door, holding his ribs with a pained expression. Buffy knows she should care more about the invite but can't make herself worry about it. Not when Spike just hurt himself saving Buffy's mom.

The man shakes his head again looking at them.

"Forget the phone, lady. Let me give you a lift."

"Thank you," Joyce says dazedly. "That's so kind of you."

The man grabs his keys and ushers the whole motley bunch of them out the door with a wary glance out at the dark night. "Gotta look out for each other, don't we?"

Giles and Dawn meet them at the door back at Revello Drive, Dawn flinging herself at her mom with a cry.

Buffy thanks the guy, Mark, for the lift and leads the way back into the house.

Giles pulls her aside. "Buffy what on earth happened?"

She wishes she knew.

"They took her Giles. They came into our house and they stole Mom right out of her room." She swallows. "Out of her bed. There were three of them and they could fly…I thought she was gone for good." Giles asks more questions, but his words fade to the background. Buffy's eyes are on Spike, who's got a grip on Joyce's elbow to help steady her as she sits on the couch.

Buffy doesn't feel scared. She feels the burn of righteous anger, boiling in her veins. Though she knows there are exceptions, Buffy's overwhelming experience with vampires has solidified the concept of the sanctity of a home.

The sanctity is broken. Their home is no longer the safe haven it felt just that morning.

Mom. Dawn. How to keep them safe if _home_ wasn't even safe? Buffy couldn't be there all the time.

Buffy's thoughts clash against themselves.

Giles is still talking when she interrupts.

"Spike."

He looks at her. In the proper light of Buffy's living room, the bruises he got tonight for her family are much more visible.

"Are you still looking for a new place to stay?"

The room falls quiet at the seemingly random topic.

He coughs, shifting on the edge of the coffee table. "I uh…haven't started yet…"

"Buffy, what—"

Buffy cuts her watcher off again.

"Move in with us. There's space in the basement."

Spike looks at her like she's speaking in tongues. Giles sputters in the background.

"Move in. You'll have a roof over your head, TV, food, shower, _whatever_ in exchange for your protection of Dawn and my mom."

"That is completely unnecessary! Buffy, you're not in a rational mind, it's been a hell of a night—"

"This is beyond rational, Giles." Buffy faces her watcher. "Getting Mom back was a two-man job and not just anyone could've done it. Without Spike's help and quick thinking, Mom would've been…she would've been lost to us." Buffy hears Dawn make a small scared noise. Her sister clutches closer to their mom.

Joyce, looking very pale, says "Extra help is not a bad idea. Spike, we have a cot down there. It's yours if you want it."

"This is madness!" Giles says, essentially to himself behind Buffy. Buffy looks at Spike. "I can't be here all the time. I need to know my family is safe when I'm gone. You stay inside during the day anyway." She takes a deep breath. "My house may not be as safe as I thought but it's not going to crumble like your crypt could any day now—"

"Don't have to twist my arm, Slayer. I'll do it." He looks to Joyce. "That's what you want?"

"Yes." Joyce says, nearly overpowered by Dawn saying, "Will you stay tonight too?"

Giles, overruled, gets as many details from Buffy as he can while Dawn helps re-bandage Joyce's temple.

After Giles leaves for the evening—at nearly two in the morning-Buffy hears Dawn ask their mom if she can sleep with her. Buffy approves of that sleeping arrangement, which leaves one room to protect instead of two.

Spike has patched himself up and is sitting on the couch with a mug of nearly expired blood he'd found in the deep recesses of the Summers' freezer. Buffy is making the last rounds, checking the locks a final time. She looks over at him.

"Do you need a blanket?"

Spike is taking the couch. No one feels up to setting up a cot tonight.

"I'll do without, thanks." He winces shifting his aching body back against the cushions.

Buffy crosses her arms tightly across her chest, an unconsciously protective gesture.

"No Spike, thank you." She says softly and sincerely. "I don't know what I would've done…"

Spike clears his throat. "No need to go on and on about it. Not the hero type, Slayer. Don't need the praise."

"…Okay." Buffy moves to the stairs, pauses, and detours to the weapons chest and takes out her favorite axe.

Buffy climbs the stairs, leaving the vampire to sleep on her couch. She feels more secure knowing he's keeping an eye on the first floor.

Buffy opens her bedroom door and stares at her bed. There is no way she is going to sleep tonight. After she changes into warm, dry clothes, she gently closes the door again and sits down against the wall across from her mom's room.

Buffy sits with her axe resting on her legs, listening to the soothing sounds of her mom and sister murmuring to one another then the creak of beds springs and finally quiet.

She sits, awake and watchful until the first rays of sunlight creep into the hallway.


	12. Chapter 12

Accursed Chapter 12

Spike wakes up, disoriented. He stretches sore limbs and raises his pounding head up off the couch.

Oh. Right. He'd stayed the night in the Summers' living room.

Memories from the past evening bombard him. Absolutely, bug-shagging crazy. The kinds of things these people got up to! Every other day, some huge, urgent issue comes up and needs to be resolved. Beasties, snow globes, invisible hairy monsters, and now devilish beings kidnapping the Slayer's mum right out of her own bed? How the Slayer has time to clear out just regular old vamps is beyond him. And the chit has school, friends, and family issues on top of all of that.

Spike had worried that falling out with the demon community and losing his bite would lead to a boring, sedentary life.

How wrong he was. Spike's never been so busy. It's a right adrenaline kick, hanging around the Slayer. He doesn't envy Buffy her workload, though. It's a testament to the girl's strength that she hasn't collapsed from the pressure, yet.

Shit, everything hurts. Spike needs blood in a bad way. Ramming the bike last night had been a stroke of brilliance on Spike's part, the kind of quick thinking that has saved his ass and often Drusilla's many times in the past. Last night, it had saved Joyce. But Spike, while difficult to kill, can still be hurt, and damn had that hurt. He'd half-flown over the handles bars, cracking his head against the wall and slamming his middle into the front of the bike. He'd cracked ribs, crushed internal organs, probably suffered the equivalent of a pretty serious concussion, and lost not an insignificant amount of blood. Dragging himself off the bike, he'd taken a moment to reset his broken nose and then limped after the others. By the time he'd made it across the bridge, the Slayer, like an avenging angel, had brought the others down. It was glorious to see. Spike, shortly after, threw himself into the fray again, suffering claw marks across his chest for his efforts. They'd done it though. Saved Joyce and driven the winged beasts off.

Spike had never seen anything like those creatures before. The sight of them touched a small, hidden part of Spike that still carries William's life and thoughts. The creatures resembled angels, in a way, which William would've found fearsome to behold. A larger part of him is reminded of the fae creatures from mythology and story books. William may not have believed in old wives' tales, but that didn't make them untrue. After all, vampires supposedly only exist in legend as well. Just because Spike's never run across fae beings didn't mean they weren't around.

It had been All Hallow's Eve last night. Samhain. The bell tower chiming the midnight hour, the portal of light? Spike's head hurts trying to draw the details together, though that might still be the concussion. His time as a vampire hasn't been the most cerebral. It's only been since the chip, or a few times when Dru had been especially ill, that Spike has taken the time for intellectual pursuits. As a vampire, he preferred action, choosing to draw on other bookish types to do any necessary research. It's like stretching an unused muscle, all of this thinking and analyzing and considering. He used to be so good at it too.

'Course, that had been the whole problem. Spike isn't an idiot. But he doesn't go out of his way to be a thinker, anymore. Maybe it's time he brushed up on certain things.

Spike makes a mental note to suggest Samhain to Rupert. He pulls himself to his feet. Early dawn light filters through the living room curtains. Too late to go back to the crypt for more blood. He's stuck here for the day. Spike wonders if he can convince someone to make a blood run for him.

He suddenly remembers Buffy's offer to move in. Holy shit. Had he been concussed for that part?

Spike hears the steady whoosh of a nearby human breathing, unmuffled by a closed door. Frowning, he moves over to the stairs and looks up.

Buffy is sitting on the hallway floor, tired eyes awake and staring blankly at what Spike presumes is her mother's door. She obviously hasn't slept all night.

Spike puts a hand on the railing and begins to slowly, painfully ascend the stairs. Buffy turns her head to watch him climb. He pauses three quarters of the way up. They stare at one another.

"Didn't sleep?" Spike asks softly, as not to wake Dawn or Joyce. Buffy shakes her head no. Her mouth is a thin line.

"Go on then. I'll sit here and take watch. You're dead on your feet, Slayer." He glances at her slumped form. "So to speak."

"I can't let anything happen to them," she whispers back.

"I won't let anything by. Here," he comes the rest of the way up, hand extended for the axe. She stares up at him with exhausted eyes.

"You can't fall asleep."

"I'm rested." Spike kneels beside her. He left his duster downstairs. It had served as a barrier between Spike's bleeding body and the couch. His torn shirt gapes open, revealing barely healed gashes. Buffy's eyes fall to the injuries, then raise up to meet his eyes again. She slowly stands and hands him the axe. He takes it and then slides down to her post on the floor.

Buffy stumbles into her bedroom, body sore and aching, her brain fried from too much work and not enough rest. She looks back out at Spike who regards her with a steady gaze.

"S'alright, Slayer. Be here 'til they wake. Shouldn't be long, now. Get some kip."

Buffy closes her bedroom door on the sight of the busted up vamp with her axe, guarding the hallway like a devilish sentinel.

When Buffy wakes, it is early afternoon. She can hear the sound of dishes clacking together in the kitchen, the smell of food wafting upstairs.

Buffy stands quickly and flings open her bedroom door to check the hallway. It's empty, as is her mom and Dawn's room. She can hear her mom's voice overlapping with a sotto male voice. Spike, still here.

Buffy almost heads downstairs to check on everyone, but decides to detour to the bathroom first. She stares at herself in the mirror. Her eyes are bloodshot and are half-circled with dark bags. Her face is pale and strained. And her hair? Oh, god.

Through the vents, she hears Spike's voice more clearly. He is talking to her mom about art.

Buffy decides she has time for a shower.

She takes her time, luxuriating in the warm water, breathing in the steam. She shaves and shampoos and soaks and enjoys it.

When she gets out, nearly twenty minutes later, Buffy picks out the comfiest and least hideous outfit she can find. Black leggings, a long navy body sweater, and fluffy grey socks. Buffy dries her hair and applies mascara.

She meets her own eyes in the mirror. Her reflection looks a little bit too knowing for Buffy's comfort. She quickly caps the mascara, tightens her ponytail with quick, no-nonsense movements, and exits the steamy bathroom.

Buffy pads softly down the stairs.

Halfway down, she gets a good look at the scene in the living room.

Spike has pulled an armchair close up to where Joyce rests on the couch. The fresh bandage Dawn had wrapped around Joyce's head is still there. Spike holds one of Joyce's hands with both of his own. His voice is low and earnest as he speaks with her.

Buffy's whole beings zings with de-ja-vu. This is straight out of her Slayer dream.

Spike, hearing her on the stairs, turns to look at her.

Buffy half-expects peacock feathers instead of eyes, but Spike's familiar blue orbs gaze up at her, somewhat sheepishly. He pulls away from her mom.

A loud crash in the kitchen distracts from the moment. Spike rolls his eyes and goes to help Dawn in the kitchen. It smells like burnt eggs.

Buffy goes to her mom and sits close to her side.

"How are you, Mom? Head okay?"

Joyce sighs and pulls Buffy into a gentle hug. Buffy remembers her mom's hugs being a lot stronger than this, usually. "About the same as yesterday. Headaches, but not worth going to the hospital a day early."

Buffy tucks her feet up underneath her butt and leans closer into her mom. In all the craziness, Buffy has nearly forgotten the surgery was scheduled for tomorrow morning.

Joyce strokes Buffy's hair. "I thought we could all have a day in together. Does that sound alright to you?"

"Yeah, it really, really does."

Spike comes back into the living holding two steaming cups of tea. He takes in Buffy's childlike pose next to her mom with slightly big eyes, but says nothing.

Buffy hopes Spike never becomes her enemy again. It would be hard putting moments like this behind them.

Spike brings one cup of tea to her mom, who smiles and thanks him.

"Nibblet's trying to burn the house down," he says by way of greeting to Buffy, sipping on his own cup of tea.

"Sounds like her."

Dawn comes out with plates full of pancakes and puts them on the coffee table. "So, the eggs are a lost cause. We still have pancakes though."

"I like pancakes." Joyce says with a tired grace. The pancakes aren't perfect—a little too done on the edges and a little too doughy in the middle. No one complains though.

Joyce requests to watch old movies and Buffy puts in _Thelma and Louise_ , one of her mom's favorite movies. Dawn and Buffy curl up on either side of their mom under a large comforter dragged downstairs for just this purpose.

Spike stretches out in the armchair and props his booted feet up on the coffee table. Joyce sighs but says nothing. Spike falls asleep almost immediately.

It's very peaceful. Soon, Buffy is the only one awake.

She takes in her mom and Dawn's sleeping forms, her heart warming at the sight of them. The Summers' women haven't had a morning like this since before they moved from LA, when Dawn was much younger.

Buffy looks over at the one addition to the usual family scene. Spike has hunched down in the chair so he is almost lying flat. His entirely in-black outfit sticks out garishly in the living room which is decorated with warm colors. His arms are crossed over his chest and his hands are tucked into his armpits. Spike's usual bleached helmet hair is mussed and almost curly. His head has tipped to lean against the chair, cheek resting on his shoulder, mouth hanging open slightly. The normal manic tension has drained from his still form.

Like a sleeping panther. Sleek and deadly, but peaceful at rest. Buffy's missed a good part of the movie just staring at him. Cheeks heating, she looks away.

Spike had really proven himself last night. He hadn't hesitated to fight for Buffy's family, and Buffy hadn't even once considered that Spike would refuse to help. She'd trusted that he would do his part to save her mom, or at least to keep her in his sights.

When, exactly, had she started trusting him like that? For Buffy, it hadn't even been a conscious decision. It doesn't matter so much now. Spike has shown his dedication to her family and that's not something Buffy takes lightly. There's a sureness in her gut that tells her having Spike close by is the smart move to make.

Spike said last night that demons were going to ground, circling the wagons. Well, it's high time Buffy's loved ones did the same. And Buffy knows Spike will be a part of the Summers' circle, if only on protection detail.

What a relief, to know Spike can handle himself. Not another liability, but a reliable pillar of strength.

Buffy really needs more pillars in her life.

The phone rings as the end credits roll, rousing her mom and sister. Spike sleeps on.

Buffy crawls out of the blanket nest they'd made, and answers the phone with a groggy voice. "Hello?"

"Buffy, you're awake. How are things today?" Giles' tinny voice asks from the other end.

"A world of better. We're just catching up on our sleep today. I think we all really needed it."

"No doubt. Is Spike still there?"

"Yes, and my decision is final, Giles. Sleeping on it hasn't changed my mind." Really, the only reason she'd been able to sleep at all was because Spike had been in the house.

Giles sighs, "I was afraid you'd say that. But I don't begrudge you, my dear. Spike is incapable of harming any of you, and he is well-versed in both fighting and protecting others. As strange as it does sound, perhaps your judgement was quite on the mark last night."

Buffy's voice is dry. "My judgement being right is strange?"

"No. What your judgement perceived as the right course of action; that is strange. And even stranger, I'm agreeing with you. We are all stretched entirely too thin to be worried about daylight attacks or creatures having free reign of any of our homes. Well, creatures aside from Spike, that is."

"Is there some hocus pocus that you or Willow or Tara could put on my house? I _so_ do not want this to happen again."

"Yes, we could. However, protection spells are only strong when specific. A general spell may easily be broken. As for specific spells, we would need to know exactly what we are barring from entering. Therein lies the problem."

"And so, vampire bodyguard."

"…I suppose so."

"Did you find the one I killed? Its body should've been in that clearing. I practically cut its head off, Giles."

"No, I didn't. Perhaps it dissipates when deceased. Or maybe something else came along and took it."

Buffy remembers what Spike told her about the demon-y vultures from the sewers. "I might be able to track it down if something did take it…but not today or tomorrow."

"Of course not. Call if anything else comes to you?"

"Do you mean that literally or figuratively?" Buffy says wryly.

"Both, I suppose."

"Thanks for staying with Dawn last night, Giles. I knew I could count on you."

"Absolutely, Buffy. That's what I'm here for."

"I thought you were here to tell me the rules and point me at the bad guys while you sit on a mountain of books, safe at home." Buffy says with forced perkiness.

"I am a different breed from the rest. I take my mountain of books with me to the field." Buffy grins. She feels a tap on her shoulder. Spike has gotten up at some point and moved to stand behind her. He holds his hand out for the phone.

"I guess Spike wants to talk to you." Buffy says with a curious lilt to her tone.

"Oh, dear."

Spike grabs the phone. "Oi, Watcher. Got two things for you."

"If your next words are 'money' and 'smokes'…"

"Shut it, I'm being serious here. First off, bring by some blood, will you? I'm dragging ass here. And secondly," he plows right over Giles' grumbling complaint. "Check into Samhain or All Hallow's Eve when researching those winged folk, yeah?"

Like a blood hound, Giles' entire temperament shifts to razor sharp focus. "Samhain? What makes you say that?"

"Seemed fae to me. The winged freaks, did."

"The Council has no literature proving…"

"Stuff the council. I'm saying, check it out. Midnight struck right when the portal closed. I know I've heard about the thin barrier between worlds on Samhain. This shit doesn't just come from nowhere."

"Or, in other words, there's a grain of truth to every tale." Giles has a distracted, almost excited tone. "I _will_ look into this. It would, of course, be much easier if we could examine the body of the creature Buffy slew."

"Good luck with that."

"Yes, well….I must begin my search. If anything happens—"

"D'you people repeat the same shit every time something goes down? We get the bloody picture, alright?"

While Spike is on the phone with Giles, Buffy sits next to her mom again.

"I heard you and Spike talking about art this morning. Short conversation?" Buffy asks lightly.

Joyce gives Buffy a reprimanding look. "You know? It wasn't. Spike is actually quite knowledgeable about certain art styles. Mostly, from the historical perspective—"

"Oh. Am I gonna regret asking about this?"

Joyce smiles. "No, dear. I'll stop. I just…I was telling Spike this morning, about Hieronymus Bosch."

Buffy sticks her fingers in her ears as if to wiggle the sounds into words that made sense. "Huh?"

"Bosch is an artist. I have a book on him, will you bring it to me? It's the long flat one with the gold spine."

Buffy sees which book her mom is indicating and fetches it from the bookshelf. Joyce begins flipping through the pages.

"Bosch was an artist from the 1400's who painted strange and fantastic landscapes, often religious or hellish. One of the more famous ones he created is called, _Ascent of the Blessed_.

Joyce finds the page she's been looking for and shows it to Buffy. Goosebumps break over Buffy's arms. The picture shows winged, angelic beings bearing naked humans up into a dark night sky to lead them through a swirling tunnel of light.

Joyce continues placidly. "This painting depicts man's entrance into heaven. People who have had near-death experiences have described their ordeal as appearing much the same as Bosch painted it, here."

Fearing another snow globe-esque incident, Buffy takes the book from her mom and peers closer at the page.

The winged beings appear much more angelic than the demonic creatures they'd encountered the night before. Still, it was eerily similar.

Joyce sits demurely, with folded hands. "All I could think last night was that I was dying and, like in Bosch's artwork, was being borne up into heaven through the tunnel with the light at the end." Joyce looks to Buffy and briefly to Spike, who had reentered the room at some point. "It wasn't though. They did something to me, made me calm. Once that wore off, I felt like I was being stolen away by wild beasts to be eaten alive. If that's heaven, don't sign me up."

A surprised laugh frees itself from Spike's chest, deep and genuine. "You're a credit to your species, Joyce Summers."

Buffy's mom smiles warmly at Spike. "Thank you. I think. Now, Buffy or Dawn?" Joyce raises her voice to carry to Dawn in the kitchen. "Maybe you could help set up the cot in the basement for Spike." Joyce starts to get up. "We really need to wash some fresh sheets for you."

Buffy and Spike are guiding her back to the couch before she makes it halfway up.

"Mom, no, we've got it."

"Don't put yourself out, Joyce. I've slept comfortably enough in far worse places."

Joyce shakes her head. "While you're a guest in my home, Spike, you will have a bed with clean sheets."

When Buffy comes down with the linen for the wash, she sees Dawn hovering anxiously just outside the basement door.

Buffy doesn't really blame her. Dark basements are probably the last place Dawn wants to go alone after last night.

"I'll go down with you, Dawn." Buffy says. Dawn looks relieved.

Together, the sisters work to get things set up. Footsteps sound overhead. Cot in place, sheets in the wash, Buffy and Dawn go back upstairs to see Giles handing off a carton of smokes and a couple dozen bags of blood to Spike who immediately goes to the kitchen.

Buffy approaches Giles. The microwave door slams shut in the kitchen. Dawn wanders in that way.

The teen watches Spike pull the steaming mug out of the microwave and chug it down like water. Spike tears off another bag's end and refills his mug. Dawn wrinkles her nose.

"Gross. You can keep that mug forever, just so you know." Spike looks at the smiley face mug in his hand with a grimace.

"Shit. Would've picked better if I'd known that."

Giles enters the kitchen with Buffy trailing behind. "Some good leads have come from your Samhain idea Spike. Will you be patrolling tonight?"

"He can do a sweep on the way to his crypt to move his stuff over." Buffy says like Spike's not even in the room. Dawn flicks her eyes to Spike to share an exasperated look.

"Sir, yes sir." Spike remarks snidely into his reheated mug. Buffy groans in dismay.

"Spike! That was my favorite mug!"

"It would be."

"We are seriously gonna need to lay down some ground rules here."

"Lay away, Slayer. But maybe later, yeah? Can't a bloke try to heal up in peace?"

"Oh, the bed's set up downstairs. Do your own laundry."

Spike bats his eyes ridiculously at Buffy. "You won't be making up my bed?"

Giles watches the interplay with an almost constipated look on his face. "That's quite enough of that. Buffy, I thought to take you and your family out to dinner tonight. Joyce was amenable to the idea. Would you and Dawn like that as well?"

"I like food," Buffy says with a small smile. She turns to Spike. "Don't do anything weird in our house while we're gone."

"Pshh."

"I mean it. I'll know."

"Right, right." Spike says. He winds his way around the counter and steals away to the basement.

After night falls, Spike leaves the house, armed with a few bins to fill with his stuff. Buffy and her family haven't returned from dinner yet so Spike takes his time, checking out the usual spots and finding nothing of real interest.

Back in his crypt, Spike starts packing his shit up. He's actually accumulated quite a bit since settling in Sunnyhell. He's not sure how long the Slayer's mad cohabitation idea will last so he decides to only bring the essentials with him and leave his crypt in good condition for a rainy day.

Spike fills one whole bin with candles and throw rugs, another with weaponry of different kinds. He stuffs in his comforter and silk sheets into trash bags. Spike takes his crappy old TV off a scuffed up chest which he filled with personal belongings. Books, clothes, shoes, belts, hygiene items, a few of his favorite music albums, rings, necklaces, etc. Some mementoes he's been dragging around for decades. He grabs the last of the blood and alcohol out of his fridge and is considers himself finished. Now, if his crypt gets raided while he's gone, he won't be losing anything he cares about.

Spike looks at the pile of stuff and wishes his car was fixed. Sighing, he picks up the first couple bins and begins the long walk back to Revello Drive…his next home.


	13. Chapter 13

Accursed Chapter 13

Spike bounces both his legs at the same time, balanced on his toes, as he sits in a hospital waiting chair. Buffy, Dawn, Giles, Anya, Harris, and the Wiccas are dispersed around the waiting room.

He'd been able to join the Summers women for check-in because Joyce's surgery prep started so early in the morning that the sun wasn't fully risen, yet.

The sun is now on its way back down, maybe two-ish in the afternoon.

The doctor had warned them about the long day ahead, but Spike personally felt there was only so long a patient needed to lay on a table while some schmucks mucked around in their skull.

Just speaking from personal experience.

Dawn agitatedly gets up from where she's been idly flipping through the same magazine for the last hour.

"I'm going on another snack run," she says.

"Grab us some pretzels?" Xander asks, handing her some extra cash. More than enough to easily cover fifteen packages of pretzels. Or whatever Dawn wanted in addition to his pretzels.

Dawn smiles wanly. "You got it." The slim girl disappears down the hallway. Spike thinks Dawn might just be going to stretch her legs to try to keep from going crazy, waiting. Spike can't really blame her for that.

Buffy paces slowly in front of a large picture window which Spike has been studiously avoiding, due to the sunlight streaming in.

Anya reads a book and Giles and Xander are deep in conversation with Tara and Willow.

Spike's going a little stir crazy himself. He stands, catching Buffy's eye. He indicates he's going for a smoke and Buffy nods, continuing her slow circuits around the room.

Spike tosses his coat on the uncomfortable chair to save his spot and begins his search for the blood unit. His skin itches from healing gashes and his insides are still throbbing. Animal blood really just doesn't cut it. What Spike needs is blood of the human variety. Slayer doesn't usually like him to take human blood meant for healing humans, but Spike figures what she doesn't know won't hurt her.

Dawn has no interest in buying or eating snacks. Or eating any food of any kind. She can't remember a time she was less hungry. She knows that it's tension and worry, making her tummy tight and giving it that fake full feeling. Still. She'll grab some pretzels on the way back. Dawn just wants to walk around for a while. She can't bear to sit another minute. Dawn takes the stairs to the third floor. They've been waiting on the fourth floor forever; she is ready for a change in scenery. Dawn circles around the neonatal unit, looking at all the new and pending parents. All the cute little babies. The nurse at the main desk gives her a hard look when Dawn starts to walk around a second time so she detours to the stairs and goes down another floor.

Recovery. People practicing their walking with crutches or eating out of ugly pink dinner trays in their rooms. Hopefully, this is where her mom would be by tomorrow. Recovering.

Down another floor and through a door Dawn doesn't think is meant for visitors. It's cold down here, even with her sweater on. Dark, too. Another double set of doors and Dawn realizes she's found where the hospital puts dead bodies.

Dawn stares at the many tables where unmoving bodies lay, covered with sheets. Some weird impulse moves her even closer. If things go wrong, this is where her mom would be by tomorrow. Dead.

Dawn carefully, without touching the body itself, lifts the sheet away from the closest table.

A very pale naked old lady lays motionless on the metal table. She's been arranged nicely. Her lack of movement or breathing doesn't really disturb Dawn. She's pretty used to Spike after all. She's seen the vamp napping before. It's not so dissimilar. Dawn forces herself to imagine her mom there in the old woman's place.

Tears spring to her eyes and her throat clogs with sorrow. What was she doing down here? She should be upstairs sending positive vibes or something.

Quickly wiping her cheeks, Dawn turns around to leave. She stops.

In the dark, the glowing green eyes stand out to Dawn first. Then the scraggly long hair. The glistening tusks. Cousin freaking It.

Anger fills her, suddenly and violently. Dawn snaps.

"What the hell do you want with me!" Dawn shrieks through clenched teeth. Her body tenses, instinctively ready to run. But Dawn is tired of running.

"Why don't you say anything? Huh? Why don't you do anything?"

The tall, skinny creature sways in place, silent as ever.

"How come you sounded like Janice?"

A gust of breath disturbs the things' hair. Its eyes glow brighter, intent and predatory.

"I'm sick of this! I hate you! Why won't you leave me ALONE!" Anger overrides Dawn's cautionary fear and she snatches up a metal bar from where it leans against the wall. Dawn charges the creature, a scream automatically bursting from her throat, the way it always does when running down vermin or spiders in the home. Dawn whacks the pole solidly into the creature. There's a slurping sucking sound and the pole is dragged out of her hands. Dawn watches, wide-eyed, as the pole disappears behind the curtain of hair.

Unharmed, the creature squares off with Dawn.

" _What?!"_ Dawn shakily backs up, but it's too late. The creature rears up, suddenly appearing much taller, and rushes her. Dawn trips on her own feet as she staggers back, eyes half on the creature, half on where she's going. It's sick, the way the thing moves. Bobbing and weaving like a snake, but also gliding along like it has no feet touching the floor. Floating, almost.

Dawn sobs as her back hits the wall. The creature fills her vision, cutting off all possible escape.

The last thing Dawn sees are those glowing green eyes before darkness overtakes her.

Feeling much better, Spike makes his way back to the fourth floor. As much as he doesn't want to miss it, he kind of hopes that Joyce is already through with her surgery. All this sitting on his hands is driving him crazy. Spike much preferred how things went two nights before, physically saving Joyce from a tangible threat. Waiting for doctors to fix her is a different matter. Spike thinks the Slayer would agree with him.

Spike remembers the tea and conversation he shared with Joyce yesterday. The feelings of comfort, safety, and acceptance. Dawn's pancakes and Buffy's trust.

He's so fucking attached to this family, it isn't funny. Downright masochistic, actually. Getting invested in humans and their affairs. To vampires, humans are like mayflies. Here one day, gone the next. Their lives are short and messy and full of heartache. Spike hasn't been a vamp so many decades that he doesn't remember _that._ And besides all that, humans make terrible companions for vampires. Stupid, making friends with your food. But Joyce, Dawn—they aren't prey, they aren't food, they're…like family, which makes no sense. Spike has a family. Angelus, Darla, Dru. Well, now just Angel and Dru, but they've abandoned him.

Spike doesn't think the Summers women are comparable in any way.

As for the Slayer, if Spike's being honest, she hasn't been the enemy in a long while now. Buffy is…Buffy is…

Dawn? What the hell was that girl doing?

Spike pauses halfway down the hall between the waiting area and the end of the fourth floor which opens out into a balcony. It is an open area with tables and chairs, a place where most people enjoyed a smoke or a breather in the sunshine. It's empty now, the cold air a deterrent.

Dawn is walking towards the sunlit balcony now. But there's something funny about how she's walking. Instead of her usual gangly stride, Dawn is shuffling forward slowly, zombie-like. Girl must still be tired.

"Oi," Spike calls down the hall. "Nibblet, where are you going?"

She doesn't answer, just slowly shuffles into the sunlight, body forcing the balcony doors open without using her hands.

What the…

Spike glances back towards the waiting room. He sees Buffy standing in the entryway, arms crossed. She points at Dawn and gestures in a sweeping motion for Spike to bring the girl back. Bossy bint. Maybe there was news on Joyce. Spike waves in acknowledgement.

An alarm sounds, sending all nearby medical staff running to answer the emergency. Spike winces as his sensitive hearing is assaulted by the noise.

"Dawn," he calls again as he starts towards her. Dawn is out on the balcony now. Hospital staff must have cleared the snow and ice, because there is none on the ground or outdoor furniture. Dawn slowly turns and steps up onto a chair, then onto a table.

"Dawn!" Spike hears Buffy's concerned voice behind him. Spike is nearly at the balcony entrance now.

"Get down, bit, you're right next to the ledge!" Spike says, voice stern with worry. Dawn's face is half-turned to him, half-facing the drop on the other side of the balcony wall. Spike sees with sudden clarity, that Dawn is not aware of what she is doing. Her eyes are half-mast and blank, like she's hypnotized or sleep-walking.

Dawn steps up onto the balcony ledge.

"NO!" Spike hears the scream. It might've come from his own mouth.

Dawn leans forward and tumbles off the fourth story ledge.

Buffy's pacing brings her past the hallway on each circuit. She stops when she sees Spike by the nurse's station and Dawn, farther down. Buffy signals Spike to bring Dawn back. She'd left for snacks ages ago. It's a good distance away, but Buffy can see Dawn isn't carrying anything. What has she been doing this whole time?

Buffy squints at her sister, watching Spike try to catch Dawn's attention and failing. Dawn goes out onto the balcony and starts to climb onto the furniture there. Unease shoots through Buffy and she begins jogging towards her sister. Dawn gets up on the table.

"Dawn!" Buffy shouts, alarmed. Hospital staff rush by her, bumping into her and slowing down Buffy's progress down the hall.

Buffy sees Dawn step up onto the balcony ledge. Fear constricts Buffy's throat. For one suspended moment, the sunlight gleams on Dawn's hair and makes her skin glow.

"NO!" Buffy screams, stomach plummeting.

Dawn falls. Spike rushes into the balcony area and throws himself after her. Spike catches Dawn, barely, body half-leaning over the ledge himself.

Buffy reaches the balcony doors just as Spike hurtles back into the hospital wing. His skin hisses and smokes. The smell of burnt flesh reaches Buffy as Spike shoves Dawn at her.

"Fuck!" Spike stamps his feet and smacks at his arms which have caught fire.

"Dawn!" Buffy chokes out, shaking her sister. "What the hell were you doing?"

Spike continues swearing in the background, but it sounds less urgent and more pained. Hurt, but ok. Good.

Dawn's head lolls, eyes fluttering, like she's waking up. "B-Buffy?"

"What were you thinking, Dawn? God, Dawnie, what were you doing up there?" Buffy can hear her own voice, pissed and tearful. The adrenaline is still rushing through her, even though the danger has passed. After a day of all worry, but no action, it's a heady sensation. Buffy's vision greys in and out. They need to sit down.

Buffy yanks her sister over to a chair. Spike is hunched over, cradling his arms.

Dawn clears her throat and shakes her head more vigorously. "Spike? What happened? Oh! You're hurt!" Dawn gets to her feet, but Spike staggers over and pushes her back down into the chair.

"What the hell was that?" he gasps out.

"What was what? How did you get burned?"

"You don't remember?" Buffy asks in disbelief.

"No." Dawn's head swings between Buffy and Spike. "What happened?"

"You almost took a swan dive of the balcony, that's what happened!" Spike says, glaring at her, worried. "You really don't remember?" Dawn shakes her head, eyes big. Spike turns to Buffy. "She looked out of it. I saw her eyes, right before. Don't think she was awake."

Giles comes up to them. He's panting from the quick jog. "What's happened? And what is that smell?" He looks at Spike. Spike's ears, the back of his neck, both his arms, and the right side of his face and forehead are charred.

"Good lord!"

Back in the waiting area, Dawn huddles between Tara and Willow. The witches are speaking softly to her, Tara stroking her hair.

Giles turns to Buffy. "You think she could have been sleep walking?"

Buffy shudders, the close call fresh in her mind. "She's done it before. A really long time ago though. Like, Mom and Dad were still together, a long time ago. We used to have to lock the doors so she wouldn't wander off in the middle of the night."

Spike shifts, wincing as his coat rubbed against his burns. He'd covered back up so that no hospital staff would notice and insist on treating him. He needed to find some bandages or something until he healed properly…fuck…

Giles rubs his eyes. "And of course she hasn't been sleeping well, what with your mother's illness and your late night visitors…"

"She hasn't been. Now that I think about it, she's looked really tired lately."

"And she can't remember a thing?"

"No."

Dawn had sworn the last thing she could remember was leaving to get snacks. Buffy's just glad that Dawn hadn't gotten into anything dangerous while out of their sights. Thank goodness for Spike.

Buffy looks at the vampire hunched uncomfortably in his chair. Giles follows her gaze. He shakes his head.

"And Spike, rushing into the sunlight for her."

"We were lucky he was there." Buffy says, eyes still on Spike. Giles looks back to his Slayer, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Did he say why he did it?" Giles asks.

"He didn't have to. Dawn was in danger." Buffy says firmly. She stands, suddenly. "He needs bandaging up. Find us if the doctors come back?" she requests with a final glance to her Watcher. Giles nods, looking perturbed.

Buffy walks up to stand in front of Spike. "C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up." Spike winces as he stands, then follows her down the hall. Giles watches them go, noticing the pair's proximity. They walk side by side. Buffy, at his elbow, looks up into his face and Spike turns his hand over for her to look at. Giles sees Buffy exclaim at the injuries before they round the corner out of his line of vision. The seeds of unease grow into a more fully realized concern. A vampire, selflessly flinging himself out into certain death for a human child? Giles didn't think so. He sits back, pondering his next course of action.

Buffy and Spike duck into a supply room, after a quick check to be sure it wasn't being used. Each staff door is key coded to get in, but Buffy's quick reflexes catch the door before it closes all the way behind an exiting nurse.

Spike peels his leather duster off, cringing as it sticks to his burns. Buffy's mouth flattens into a thin line. She rummages around for burn cream and bandages.

Gritting his teeth, Spike says, "I can do it m'self, you know. Been patching myself up for a long time now."

Buffy ignores him, eyeing him speculatively. His arms were too injured to catch hold of. Buffy snakes a hand underneath Spike's arm and physically guides with a hand on his waist to sit on a stack of crates. Spike scowls up at her gentle manhandling.

"Look, you don't have to do this, Slayer, I've got it. I know you've got places to be—"

"No! Stop, Spike." Not meeting his eyes, Buffy unscrews the cap to the burn cream and rips open the package of bandages. Feeling his eyes on her, Buffy looks up at him, reading the question in his gaze.

The sick trembling feeling that took hold of Buffy's limbs when she saw her sister tip over the ledge hasn't left her yet.

"You saved Dawn. And you saved Mom, too. _You_ did that, Spike. That's what you did. Let me do this for you. Just let me—" She cuts herself off and drops her eyes to the work at hand.

Spike doesn't protest again.

Buffy carefully cleans and dresses his wounds then begins gently wrapping them with bandages, making sure to leave them loose so they wouldn't stick to the healing burns. She works in silence, moving to stand between Spike's spread knees to clean the burns on his forehead.

He must have ducked his head when he ran into the sun. The burns are worst on his arms and the back of his neck, but his face is mostly untouched, except for a trailing burn down the right side of his face which extends from brow to the cut corner of his jaw. Spike's face is the last thing Buffy needs to tend to, then he's done.

Buffy isn't sure she's ever known Spike to be this quiet. She can still feel his eyes on her. There's something gentle about the way he's looking at her. Buffy wonders if anyone's ever dressed Spike's wounds for him before. She can't really picture Drusilla doing a good job of it.

Finished, Buffy steps back a little. Spike gets to his feet. Buffy doesn't want to leave this quiet little space. Spike isn't looking to her for answers or expecting anything from her. If she goes back to the waiting room, Buffy has to start waiting again. Waiting for Mom to be okay again. Waiting to see if Dawn would fall asleep and wander off. Waiting for death to try and take her family again.

Tears well in her eyes and Buffy ruthlessly scrubs them away. She tips her chin up and straightens her back, turning to leave.

Spike catches her elbow and pulls her back. "Thanks," he says. "For the patch job."

"Welcome," Buffy whispers, not trusting her voice to be steady if she raises it.

Spike regards her, not letting her go. "Never been a big fan of repressed emotion, myself. S'gotta come out sometime, don't it love?"

Buffy's whole chest hurts. Her throat aches to let loose. Her face heats from the effort of not crying or screaming. She doesn't want Spike to see her like this but she doesn't want to face the world yet either.

Buffy steps closer and presses her hot face to Spike's chest. Even through the black t-shirt, she can feel the coolness of his skin. It helps.

Please don't say anything. Please don't say anything.

Buffy feels Spike's bandaged hand come up to gently cup the back of her skull, holding her to him.

Hands clenched into fists, Buffy rests her forearms against his chest, trapping her head inbetween.

She presses her mouth against his chest and screams and screams.

It rushes from her, the fear and the anger and the worry. She's been going crazy from it, winding up tighter and tighter.

Like screaming into a pillow, Buffy's screams are muffled. Spike's other hand has come up to hold her elbow. Almost an embrace, but not really.

Eventually, Buffy runs out of steam. Her screams become angry sobs and her angry sobs become muffled words.

"…Not fair. What else is going to happen? I can't take any more of this! Oh god. Mom, Dawn. Could've left this hospital minus my whole family today…"

All her words run together, like a quieter scream, but those too run out.

Buffy's fists had opened up to clawed fingers and she's gripping Spike's t-shirt.

Feeling better, if foolish, Buffy keeps her forehead against his chest. Gulping breaths, she notices that Spike's shirt is damp from her tears.

She doesn't know what she'll do if he mocks her for this. Buffy backs up, wiping her face. She nervously looks back to him.

Spike's face is not mocking. If anything, it's understanding. _There, now. Isn't it better to let loose?_

It was. Buffy needed that. Well, she needed something, and that worked well enough.

She clears her throat. "How bad do I look?"

Spike's mouth twitches. "Not bad at all, Slayer. Might do to wash with a wet cloth though."

Everyone was going to know she'd cried. Buffy makes an unhappy noise in the back of her aching throat. There was a small mirror and sink in the storeroom with them. Spike wets a cloth and hands it to her. Buffy inspects her puffy eyes and flushed cheeks. She holds the cool cloth to her eyes for a long few minutes. She can hear Spike straightening up the area behind her. He doesn't once mention her outburst.

Affection swells within her. Buffy's never been so glad to know someone. Who knew it would be Spike, helping her through this? She pulls the cloth away from her eyes and checks her appearance in the mirror once more. Much better.

Tossing the cloth into the sink, Buffy moves back to Spike's side where he is waiting for her by the door.

In a weirdly gentlemanly move, Spike opens the door and holds it for her to walk through. Buffy feels her cheeks warm again for a different reason, but she doesn't slow down and try to categorize it.

Buffy feels Spike fall into place by her side as they go back to the waiting room, together.


	14. Chapter 14

Accursed Chapter 14

Willow looks up to see Buffy and Spike come back to the waiting area. Years of friendship and experience with emotional girl-talking with Buffy alerts Willow to one urgent fact.

Her best friend has just been crying. It's subtle, but obvious if you know what that sort of thing looks like on Buffy, and Willow does know.

Willow realizes with sudden worry that Buffy must have broken down in front of Spike. The witch straightens up in her seat, filled with anxiety that Spike will at any moment make some thoughtless, snide comment about Buffy's tears.

None are forthcoming.

Spike reclaims his seat, draping his coat across the arm of the chair. Buffy sits back down on the couch. Spike doesn't give any indication that he probably just saw Buffy cry her eyes out a few minutes ago. Buffy does her usual, 'I'm fine' thing and no one is the wiser.

Willow's body remains tense, even as a gradual, happy surprise fills her. Well, wasn't that downright good of Spike? Willow's estimation of the bleached vampire raises even more. Despite the significantly bad first few impressions Willow has of Spike, he has slowly shown some hidden depths. His gift for Tara, while not entirely appropriate, was, for a vampire, extremely thoughtful. The underlying message was: _use this to stay safe._ And now having Buffy's back on the emotional front? Wow. For a sleazy, jerky member of the undead, Spike could be pretty considerate.

"Any word?" Buffy asks the room at large.

"Not really," Tara says softly. "One of the nurses did come out to say that everything's on track, but it will probably be a few more hours before anyone can see her."

Willow's noticed that Tara's stutter all but disappears when talking about Joyce in the hospital. Willow knows that Tara's mom died, but not much else about it. Tara is probably the most experienced at this kind of thing. This worrying for the health of a parent thing.

Dawn moves closer to Spike. She carefully touches the edge of the bandage of his left hand. "I guess it would've been better if you were wearing your coat, huh?" Dawnie looks guilty. Willow frowns sympathetically at the girl. It wasn't her fault she slept-walked right into danger.

Spike just shrugs, a bit gingerly. "Win some, lose some, bit. Could've been worse." Dawn tugs on the loose sleeve of the leather coat hanging on the chair.

"Could've been better." Dawn mutters.

Giles rises slowly from his seat. His glasses dangle for a moment from his hands as he stares at a spot on the floor in front of him. "Spike."

The vampire tips his head up at Giles. Giles deliberately places his glasses back on his nose. Not looking at Spike, Giles says casually, "I'd like a word with you in private."

Casual or not, this catches everyone's attention. Xander looks up from his coffee. Anya puts down her book. Buffy stares at Giles. "Why? What for?" Buffy asks with a frown.

"Nothing urgent. Spike?"

Eyes a little wary, Spike twists his mouth to the side and raises his eyebrows. "Promise it's just one word you're wantin' to have?"

Giles flicks Spike an exasperated look. Spike sighs and heaves himself to his feet. "Alright, lead on then."

Spike follows Giles around the corner and down a couple different halls until they were well out of earshot of the rest of the gang. It's quieter down here. Practically deserted.

Spike looks around with a wry half-grin. "This the part where you stake me and feign ignorance later?" He says sarcastically.

Giles doesn't say anything to that. Spike had meant it as a joke, but there's a seriousness in the air between the two Brits. Spike's shoulders tense. He wishes he'd grabbed his duster. Without it, Spike feels smaller, his injuries more obviously on display. Without making a conscious decision to do so, Spike positions himself to get the wall behind his back and a clear exit to his right. Giles crosses his arms, one hand propping up to rub his chin in thought.

"Well? Out with then. What's the deal, Watcher?"

"How are you feeling? Your injuries, they aren't too serious?"

Spike eyes the other man. "Feelin' a mite charbroiled as a matter of fact, but it's not too bad. A bit of blood and I'll be good as new." Spike's eyes narrow. "That's not what this chat's about though, is it?"

"No. It isn't. Well, not exactly. I wanted to…thank you for your help assisting Buffy and her family. It's admirable, how far you've overcome your own nature to do so."

Spike just stares Giles down.

Clearing his throat, Giles continues. "Buffy, you know, she is an incredible young woman. There's never been a slayer like her before. She's remarkably capable of handling even the most overwhelming tasks."

"That's not really news to either of us, Rupes."

"No. But as I'm certain you've realized, when it comes to personal matters, Buffy is…well it's much more difficult for her."

"What are you trying to say? Quit dancing around it and spit it out."

Giles finally meets Spike's gaze full-on. Spike's hackles raise as he sees the Ripper staring back at him.

"Buffy is vulnerable when it comes to matters of the heart. I know this. You know this. You've rubbed it in her face before, quite often."

"That was before! When we were enemies. She did a fair bit of mudslinging too, you know. S'not like she's defenseless."

"Perhaps not. But that was before. Now, she trusts you. She's let you in, close." Giles steps closer, eyes intent. "By doing so, she's allowed you to position yourself in such a way that you could easily harm her, chip or no chip. I won't see that happen."

Spike's mouth has fallen open in a sort of surprised outrage. If Giles didn't know any better, he'd say the emotion behind Spike's icy blue eyes looked just like hurt.

"Why are you giving me this talk _now?_ Doesn't make a lick of sense. Would've made sense after Adam. Would've made sense, maybe, over this summer. But you never did. So why now? I just saved Dawn's life, nearly immolating myself in process. You have a _problem_ with that?" Spike's voice is raising in anger.

"As a matter of fact, I do. And you should as well. It's unnatural, what you've done. Nearly dusting for Dawn."

"This whole damn situation is unnatural. The likes of me with the likes of you white hats. Didn't see you complaining about it when I patrolled, or when I gave you people tips, helped you out."

"All actions which a reluctant ally would make. And that's all you can be, Spike. I fear you've misled yourself into thinking there's something else going on here."

Spike scoffs. "D'you even hear yourself? I saved Dawn. That's a good thing!"

"Precisely!" Giles' voice is unyielding. "A good thing. And you, Spike, are an evil thing. No matter what you do, what you tell yourself, what you've come to believe, at the heart of it, you are a creature of darkness and you will hurt her."

"Her? Buffy or Dawn? No!" Spike cuts Giles' rebuttal off. "I wouldn't hurt _either_ of them. Any of them! They aren't my enemy and they aren't my prey. I know them. I'm fucking invested. I wouldn't be doing all this if I weren't invested. I wouldn't have run into the sodding _sunlight_ , if I wasn't serious about this!"

"Yes, you know them. That's what makes this whole situation so unnatural. We ran into the same problem, a while ago, when deciding what to do with you. When you first got the chip, and then after when you betrayed us to Adam. We discussed the merits of dusting you."

Spike's body vibrates like a tight wire. "Obviously not in favor."

"Obviously. As I think Xander put it, it would be "ooky," since we've known you so personally. You aren't a faceless enemy or a hated foe anymore. You have a face, and a name, and a personality, idiosyncrasies. And you can't harm us." Giles pauses, getting his voice back under control. "The children, they're hardly children anymore, but compared to you and me, they are vastly inexperienced. They may be growing beyond the need for my help, but in this I can still offer my wisdom. Actions have consequences. Even well-intentioned ones. A kindness in the past can so easily lead to regret in the future."

"What the fuck does that even mean?" Spike is pissed off now.

"It means that despite your help, despite Buffy's trust, despite the childrens' good intentions to spare you-a harmless creature, and possibly even your good intentions to do right by Buffy and her family…this can't go too far. I want to make sure you and Buffy retain your perspective."

Giles' voice is steel, now. "You aren't the enemy, not anymore, Spike. You may even be an ally. But you aren't friend. You aren't family. You can't get that close. Your very nature dictates that you will falter and do wrong again. I won't stand idly by and allow that to happen. It wasn't a problem before because Buffy had perspective. Now, with so much happening to her, I fear she's lost it."

Spike scoffs.

"Inviting you to move in? Tending to your wounds, trusting you? This is too close. It's for the best that you maintain some distance."

Spike's voice is bitter and hard. "Distance like moving out again when she expressly asked for the backup? Yeah, right." He shakes his head, hard, and laughs. Spike's face has sharpened into extreme plains and angles, looking harsher and crueler than he has in a long time. His eyes are cut glass, piercing back into Giles.

"You know what? I'm not gonna stand around and listen to you spew this bullshit. Fact is, this isn't even about me. S'not even really about the Slayer." Spike's lips curl back as he goes for the kill. "It's about you. You and that Ethan bloke."

Giles blanches.

"Yeah. I don't know the whole story there, but I can read between the fucking lines. You were mates, once, yeah? And he did you wrong, stabbed you in the back maybe. You, in your 'inexperience' let the bastard go when you could've ended him. Now, he's back, raising all sorts of hell and getting people killed and the guilt of it is just _eating_ you up."

Giles has gone white. His fists clench and unclench at his sides. Spike doesn't give a fuck. He'll push the envelope as far as he fucking wants to.

"You think that's me and the Slayer? You think we're like you and that Ethan fellow? Well, wake up, Rupert. The Slayer is not some weak-stomached school lad as I'm sure you were. She isn't going to hesitate to dust me if that's what needs to happen. Or did you somehow forget Angelus? If she can stab the love of her sodding life through the heart and send him to hell to get shit done, then what makes you think _I'm_ gonna give her pause? She doesn't need your interventions."

Spike pauses, letting the charged silence draw out just that little bit longer. "She doesn't need your help to be the Slayer. She might need you, but not for that. You're just a sad little man so desperate for a role in her life that you're making roles up. Get over yourself!"

Spike sneers, taking in Giles' expression. Maybe the man hadn't even realized what he was doing, but Spike knows he right.


	15. Chapter 15

Accursed Chapter 15

Joyce is in post-op care. That's what the nurses came out to say nearly twenty minutes ago. This has probably been the longest day of Buffy's life.

Giles and Xander returned a while ago, much calmer. The tension has eased considerably, but Buffy hasn't bothered to try talking things out with her Watcher. She doesn't have enough energy left to deal with whatever's got his tweed in a twist.

Fact is, Spike is a part of Buffy's team. Giles is just gonna have to accept that.

For now, Buffy waits. The thought that her mother's surgery is finally on the home stretch is relieving. Buffy just wants to see her mom's face again. It feels like years have passed since Buffy and Dawn said goodbye to their mom this morning. Since Joyce pulled Buffy aside and asked Buffy to care for Dawn in the event…well. It doesn't matter. Buffy's mom is almost through with her surgery so it's a moot point. Good thing, too. Half a day into Buffy's potential full responsibility of Dawn and the girl almost falls to her death. Buffy is obviously not parent material.

For some reason, the vision of Spike holding Dawn protectively after her near-fall flashes through Buffy's mind-eye.

The tread of heavy boots on tile alerts Buffy and the others to Spike's arrival. The vampire is looking much more healed than earlier in the day. Good. He must have gotten ahold of some blood while he was away. Buffy frowns slightly, wondering if he'd nabbed some from the hospital's stores. Seeing Dawn's face light up at his return banishes any feelings of ill-will. Spike was injured saving her sister. Buffy isn't going to begrudge him a couple donated bags of human blood.

Spike swings around to the Scoobies' end of the room and tosses down a few large take-out sacks. Xander comes to attention.

"Is that Chinese food I smell?"

"Yeah." Spike says shortly. Some lingering upset from before, maybe, in his voice. He hasn't looked over to Giles yet. Buffy sneaks a look at her watcher. Giles is making a sour lemon face. Buffy thinks it might be more of a sore loser face than a truly-unhappy-to-see-him face. Giles makes the same face around Xander pretty often.

The rest of the gang starts digging into the food Spike brought.

"I didn't even realize it was dinner time!" Willow exclaims, her cheer sounding a little forced. Trying to smooth over any harsh feelings from the argument before. Spike shrugs. He piles a veritable mountain of Chinese food onto two different paper plates and passes one to Dawn and the other to Buffy. He then plops onto the couch, shooting Giles a challenging look. Buffy deliberately sits next to Spike and eyes Giles with an implacable expression. Giles leans back in his chair, saying nothing.

Relieved that the fighting seemed to be over for now, Buffy picks up a fortune cookie laying out in the middle of the magazine and take-out covered coffee table.

Cracking it open, Buffy frowns. The slip of paper that should hold her fortune is blank on both sides. Phooey. Not exactly what she wants to see on a day like today.

Spike wordlessly plucks the cookie from her hand and gives her the food-laden plate instead.

"Thanks," she murmurs. Buffy starts picking at her food, not really that hungry. On Spike's other side, Dawn puts her untouched food back onto the table.

"Sorry Spike," Dawn says. "I just can't eat anything right now. I'm not hungry at all."

Spike has a very serious look on his face. Buffy can feel the tension in his frame. She resists the urge to interrogate Spike and Giles about their conversation.

Spike picks Dawn's plate back up and leans forward, elbows on knees, to glare at it.

"I was human, once."

Spike's out-of-the-blue statement catches everyone's attention. Even Xander freezes, food halfway to his mouth, eyebrows arched in surprise. There were a lot of things Spike has yammered on about in the past and a lot of things he could've talked about today, but his previous humanity? Not something the Scoobies tended to ever think about. And definitely not something Spike has ever brought up before.

The plate crinkles slightly in Spike's tight grip. "I don't like to think on it too much, but it happened. Being human." He looks towards Dawn, but doesn't meet her eyes. "I had a mom too, you know, and she was sick for a long time. Spent years watching her slowly waste away. It's fucking awful seeing that kind of thing. But going hungry," Spike thrusts the food at Dawn again, "only makes it that much worse."

Dawn accepts the plate without argument. She looks at Spike with soft, curious eyes. "Sometimes I forget you weren't always a vampire."

"I prefer that." Spike's tone is diamond hard.

No one tries to ask him for more details, although Buffy can see from the others' faces that they're all curious. Even Giles. Buffy knows _she's_ curious. Honestly, sometimes she forgets that Spike must have been human at one point, too.

And his mom was sick? Buffy remembers her slayer dream and then later how Spike was with Joyce after the winged beast attack. Holding her hand. Bringing her tea. Talking to her with so much patience. A tenderness fills Buffy's heart when she looks at Spike with his bleached-white hair and bad boy black outfit. The combat boots and the snark and the screw-you attitude.

Spike had a mother. Spike was a son. Spike had a family.

Or was it William, then?

The mystery stews in Buffy's brain, providing a wonderful distraction from her worry over her mom.

Dawn manages to finish about half her plate and Buffy about a quarter of hers. The food remnants are cleared away. Willow and Tara are extremely thorough cleaning up the trash and the table. Xander opens every single fortune cookie.

"These are all blank!" he says, disappointed.

"Must have been a bad batch or something," Willow says with a shrug.

Eventually though, there's nothing else to clean or mess with and the waiting resumes.

When Dr. Isaacs finally emerges, Buffy practically flies across the room to greet him, Dawn trailing at her heels. The man doesn't even have a chance to announce his presence before the two girls are ready and waiting before him for news.

Back in the couch circle, Spike straightens up and cocks his head.

"What is he saying?" Anya asks impatiently. Willow, Tara, Xander, and Giles lean closer and take turns looking between Spike's face and the Summers girls across the room.

Spike's expression goes slack with surprise then fills with strain. "Oh, fuck."

"What? What happening? What's he saying?" Willow wrings her hands. Tara reaches over to hold the redhead's hand, halting the nervous movement.

Giles stands and stares at his charge and her sister. Dawn is hugging herself, tears trickling down her face and Buffy looks anxious.

" _Spike."_ Xander says emphatically.

The vamp grits his teeth. "Doc's saying that Joyce fell into a coma an hour ago. That they haven't had any luck trying to revive her."

Tara gasps in sympathy, "Oh, no! From the surgery?"

Spike tugs on his earlobes with both hands as if that would help him hear more clearly. "Surgery went…well?" He leans farther forward. The Scoobies listen with rapt attention. "Yeah, tumor's gone, she's all sewed up. But she hasn't woken from the anesthesia yet. Should've."

"Good god," Giles breathes. "What are the options?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"By eavesdropping better?"

Giles and Spike glare at each other. Buffy slowly returns. Dawn runs past them to the restrooms where she shoves the door open with a cry and disappears within. Tara gets up and follows her in.

Buffy just looks numb.

Giles reaches out and touches her shoulder. "Buffy?"

"She won't wake up," Buffy says hoarsely.

Dr. Isaacs has followed her over. "It's always a risk with the anesthetic." The doctor looks exhausted.

Giles turns on him with a dark look in his eye. "And why weren't precautions taken?"

"They were. Complications arose during the surgery. Mrs. Summers was under for far longer than originally expected. While we were able to locate and remove the tumor and stop the additional bleeding we found…."

Spike, looking at Buffy, loses track of what the doctor is saying. The Slayer's eyes are wide and vague. Shutting down.

Frustration and misery fills him.

Human life. Short, painful, messy. And he, in the middle of all of this. Invested. Spike reaches over an uncertain hand to lay comfortingly on her back. Buffy lifts her head and Spike quickly continues the movement to run a hand through his hair. Awkward. Him, trying to comfort the Slayer. But, shit, if she didn't look like she was going to break down…

"What do we do now?" Buffy asks, as if to some unseen deity.

The doctor answers. "All we can do is wait and see. You have my word that we will monitor your mother and see to her every need. At this point, Ms. Summers, I would suggest you go home and get some rest. This may just be Joyce's body's way of doing the same. There's every hope she will wake up when her body is more fully healed. In the meantime, you folks have been here all day. So, go on home. We'll call if anything changes."

Hours later, back on Revello Drive, Buffy sits on the back porch and stares out into the quiet night. Dawn had gone upstairs after loudly shutting her bedroom door. With the moon reflecting off the snow, the yard is strangely bright.

Spike appears from the lining of trees at the edge of the property and silently makes his way to her across the snow.

De-ja-vu tickles Buffy's memory. It's like the scene from a couple of nights ago.

But in a few very important ways, it's not.

No Mom upstairs. No winged beasts. No crying.

Spike stamps his boots on the stair and leans against the railing to her left. Waiting for Buffy.

Another difference. Instead of showing up to report after a patrol, Spike was…coming home after patrol.

The ice that formed around Buffy's heart when entering her mom-less house melts a little at the thought. Spike moving in couldn't have come at a better time. Buffy thinks she might go crazy if she'd had to live alone with Dawn right now.

Buffy is supposed to take care of Dawn, in the event of their mother's passing. Well, their mom hasn't passed. She was just…stuck. Halfway alive and halfway dead. Buffy shivers. No. Not that. Halfway home. Dr. Isaacs said she would probably wake up after she healed. Buffy clings to the idea.

Of course, Buffy would take care of Dawn. But almost worse than hearing that her mom would never come home again was the idea that she might, someday, but having no idea when. Every room in the house holds empty spaces where Joyce should be. How could Buffy fill those? How could Dawn accept Buffy trying to fill those spaces? Buffy has a feeling that Dawn won't be terribly accepting. And Buffy can't blame her.

Next to her, Spike scuffs the heel of his boot against the floor. Oh, right. She'd gotten lost in thought again. Buffy tips her head back to look at him.

Spike's shoulders are hunched slightly, as if uncomfortable. The bright moonlight paints his face in an ethereal glow, washing the lightness of his hair and skin together. The blue of his eyes, the dark of his brows, and the collar of his coat all stand out. From neck down, Spike is darkness.

They regard each, the quiet drawing taut between them like gossamer thread.

"You can go in, Spike." Buffy finally says in a hushed voice.

"Think I'll wait for you," he responds in a like tone.

Buffy gets to her feet, limbs slow and uncoordinated from sitting in the cold. Spike holds the door for her.

They enter the kitchen. Before, Buffy couldn't stand the sight of any part of her house, a stark reminder of what was missing inherent within the walls. With Spike there, she has something else to focus on.

"Anything on patrol?" she asks, not wanting him to go downstairs and leave her to her thoughts just yet.

Spike shrugs. "Nothing noteworthy."

Buffy grips the edge of the counter. Her mind is so awake. But she wants today to end. Which means she needs to go to bed.

Damn it. She should've gone on patrol. At least she would be tired out.

"What do you like to watch on TV?" Buffy asks. It feels like a dream. Like a break in a nightmare. Relieving, but not real.

Spike looks at her in surprise. "Anything, really."

They go to the living room without much more discussion. Buffy flips through the channels while Spike arranges the armchair the way he likes. He disappears back into the kitchen for a few minutes then returns with more blood in his designated smiley face blood-mug.

Buffy's mom and dad bought that mug for her at a street fair a long time ago. Every time Buffy uses it, she can still hear her dad say, "Hi, Smiley!" as he often did to Buffy when she was young. Hank had been the one to spot it and pick it out for her. Growing up, she'd loved that mug. Seeing it now, filled with blood in the hands of their friendly neighborhood vamp is pretty much a visual representation of how Buffy's life has gone in recent years.

Buffy finally settles on some wildlife documentary. Spike's lips quirk. "Good choice," he says saluting her with his mug.

Unsmiling, Buffy sinks into the comforter that they'd left on the couch. It still smells like her mom's perfume.

Slayer and vampire sit around the television, neither sleeping a wink, until nearly dawn.


	16. Chapter 16

Accursed Chapter 16

Buffy trails her hand over the familiar Martinez gravestones on the second circuit of her nightly patrol.

Buffy had dusted one nest of too-tipsy-for-their-own-good vamps in a mausoleum near the entrance of Shady Rest Cemetery. That was the only action she'd seen so far tonight. Which, while frustrating to her, was still probably of the good. Giles would be pleased, at any rate.

Her Watcher expressed his concern earlier that Buffy would be too distracted for patrol. Giles suggested Spike take patrol for yet another night. Buffy vetoed that right out the gate. First of all, patrolling was her job. See: Slayer, The. Secondly, Buffy felt she would fly off the handle if she couldn't pound her frustration out on some unsuspecting vamps and soon. Lastly, Buffy had gotten the impression that Giles only offered Spike as a sort of cannon fodder fighter for the evening.

While it makes sense that Giles wants to protect Buffy, Buffy isn't entirely comfortable with valuing her life over Spike's when it comes to fighting the good fight. Spike does a pretty good job out here when he does patrol, even if he doesn't do it for exactly the right reasons. When Spike patrols the result is the same when Buffy patrols. The nighttime is safer for the innocent.

Also, it's kind of pissing Buffy off, this macho bullshit between Giles and Spike. She's the Slayer, here. She calls the shots.

Buffy crunches her way through the relatively unmarked snow of the cemetery. That's been one positive to the stupid cold stuff flurrying all over the place this week. It makes tracking demons much, much easier.

Speaking of. Buffy sees a disturbed grave and stalks her way over. She follows the stumbling trail in the snow to the side exit and sees a young woman ambling down the street, shaking off dirt. Buffy hangs back and tails her, semi-curious where the fledge would think to go.

As Buffy stalks her prey, she thinks about the Scooby meeting held this afternoon.

Giles had gotten ahold of a mythical anthropologist contact of his. The nasty backwards-footed hiker-eater Spike brought to Buffy is apparently legendary in Mexico and Guatemala. Giles ended up giving over the remains to his contact for further study since the creatures were so rare. Giles said they usually only hang out in deep forests and pretty much never come out. They're called…Chortle? Chorta? Buffy can't remember. Anyway, they usually act like guardians of the deep forest and are vicious when provoked.

Why on earth one of the…Chorti! That's it. Why the Chorti had come up to Sunnydale to snack on the locals remains a mystery. As Willow pointed out, the news report hadn't been so far off base for once. The newscaster speculated that a predator left its normal hunting grounds-it had.

Which is just great, really. That's all the Hellmouth needs, more vicious creatures. Buffy scowls at the ground ahead of her. Maybe she should post a sign or something…no monster vacations allowed in Sunnydale. Enter at your own risk. Signed, The Goddamned Slayer. Undersigned, the Slayer's personal coven of witches, wise mentor, master vampire ally, and a vengeance demon. Plus, dude with wicked hammer skills.

Crap, where did that vamp go?

It takes a little backtracking, but Buffy picks up the trail again. She shakes her head at her own derailed train of thought. Buffy is pretty distracted lately. What with the worry and the not-sleeping and the overwhelming responsibilities.

Xander joked at the meeting that they needed to make subcommittees to deal with the slew of weird this year. He isn't wrong.

Equally concerning as outside predators choosing the Hellmouth for their new hunting grounds is the snow still falling nearly every day, little by little. Outside, there's nearly six inches accumulated. Anya speculated it was related to the snow globes and that if the Magic Box had received more than three snow globes, any additional globes would still be coming true.

That led to a debate that raged for nearly two hours. Should Anya order more snow globes so that they could have a chance to prevent more 'accidents' from happening? Would their time be better served trying to get to the bottom of whatever mystic energy the snow globes picked up on in the first place? Were they dooming future victims to certain death if they didn't get more globes? Would they minimize the casualties of the mystic energy if they went after the source directly?

Since no one had any clue as to the cause of the accidents, it seemed like more snow globes would be the way to go. Xander voted for getting more and Giles voted for tackling the source. Giles seemed certain that Ethan is behind whatever mystic force has been wreaking havoc on Sunnydale the last several weeks. Buffy doesn't think Giles is wrong, but she's leery of ignoring the clues more snow globes could give them.

God, her head hurts just thinking about the meeting. Anya went ahead and ordered three more globes to start. Should more accidents be predicted in the globes, Willow, Tara, and Xander were going to try to prevent any of the scenes from occurring. They would be in charge of investigating each scene and prior scenes for any similarities. Giles and Anya were continuing their efforts to track down Ethan Rayne. Anya thought she might be able to call in a favor on that front.

Buffy was to continue patrolling for overt threats, such as any more out-of-place predators, as well as her usual fare. Buffy thinks she'll probably be helping all around, though Willow insists that's what the Scoobies are there for; to provide back up for Buffy when things get to be too much.

It's a bit much. Give Buffy six large beasts and a dozen vamp nests to slay. Don't give her all this investigative work.

But, as Spike said the second day after the surgery, "Delegate, delegate, delegate, Slayer. Don't you even know how to use minions?" Which of course led to all sorts of hoopla about the Scoobies' status as friends, not minions…

Buffy is pretty busy with visiting her still-comatose mom every day at the hospital and taking care of Dawn, besides. She doubts she'll be able to finish this semester at the university. Buffy thinks she may as well give in and drop out later this week.

The vamp Buffy has been tailing walks up to a cheery little family home and knocks on the door. Uh oh. Focus, Slayer.

Buffy darts closer and crouches behind the bushes on the side of the home. The vamp girl looks over in her general direction suspiciously. Obviously, some in-born instinct warning her of danger. The vamp shrugs and returns her attention to the front door.

The door swings open. Buffy rocks back onto her heels in surprise when she recognizes the man. It's Mark, the guy who gave them a lift back home after those winged beasts kidnapped Buffy's mom.

Mark frowns at the girl on his stoop. "Maria, what have I told you about walking around town after dark?"

"Sorry, Mr. Kowitz. I don't even remember what I came out here to do. Was I supposed to babysit tonight?"

Buffy watches the broad-shouldered man shake his head slowly, eyebrows lowering in concern.

"Oh, my bad. Well, would you be willing to give me a ride home, like you usually do? I know you don't like people walking home after dark."

Mark is looking at her with oddly suspicious, yet sad eyes. Buffy feels surprise fill her. Could this guy actually have an idea of what's going on here?

"Sure, Maria. But first, are you hungry?"

Maria licks her lips. "Starved!" Mark backs up in wordless invitation. Maria, eyes on his neck, walks purposefully at the door only to bounce back against the barrier. She blinks in confusion.

"Mr. Kowitz? I think something's wrong with your door."

Mark shakes his head, face crumpled. He disappears from the entryway, leaving the door wide open. Buffy slowly stands and creeps around behind the vamp girl, Maria. What was he doing in there? She hears the man's voice boom in the house.

"No, Carson, go back to bed. Maria isn't sitting tonight—" then the low murmur of continued conversation.

"Huh." Maria says. She turns, suddenly, eyes pinning Buffy without having to search around for her. "Who are you?"

"I'm Buffy." Buffy says, feeling weird. She doesn't know why she didn't just stake the girl on the street when she found her. This was getting much more personal than Buffy liked. Knowing the girl's name. Knowing that she used to babysit a little boy. It's so much worse when Buffy knows the vamps she stakes.

"Did you need to talk to Mr. Kowitz?" Maria asks. Buffy thinks the girl must not realize that she's a vampire. Her heart sinks a little. Preemptive staking is obviously much better than letting a vamp hurt someone, but when Buffy kills a fledge before they know what they are, the look on their face…

It makes Buffy feel like a murderer. That's why she'd gotten into the habit of staking them before they'd crawled all the way out of the ground. Covered in grave soil and dressed in funeral clothes, usually in gameface…that wasn't so bad. Walking around, acting like a normal person, not yet realizing their inherent monstrosity? Much different. Of course, sometimes vamps seemed to wake up knowing exactly what they were, or even better, throwing their fangs at Buffy instinctively. Then, the fun fighting begins.

Maria gives Buffy an 'are you deaf?' look.

"Sorry, no. I-I mean yeah. I'm here to talk to…Mr. Kowitz."

Maria nods and faces the door again, only to get a chest full of chair leg.

She disintegrates into dust with a loud gasp, revealing Mark standing in the doorway, holding a torn-off wooden chair leg. His face is grim, if screwed up in grief.

He and Buffy stare at each other distrustfully.

"I invited you into my home," he says with a frown. "You're that girl from the other night. With the punk and the nice woman in the nightgown."

Buffy edges closer. "Yeah, that's me. I'm not like…like Maria was, though. It's okay."

"It's never okay." Mark says.

Buffy isn't used to people knowing stuff about stuff. Unsure of how to proceed, she ventures, "Do you know what Maria was? You knew how to deal with her, at least."

"Vampire." Mark says, succinctly. Huh.

"Um, yep. You know they can't touch crosses or holy water?" Mark nods. Buffy pulls out her large cross necklace from inside her coat and presents it to him, making sure the cross clearly touches her hand.

Mark relaxes, a little. "Can't ever be too careful," he says apologetically.

"You can't," Buffy agrees.

Mark sighs, face tipped down to the vamp dust mixing in with the snow on his front stoop. "She was Carson's babysitter. My son. He's only nine."

"Sorry," Buffy says honestly. Mark meets her eyes again.

"I wondered, that night, if something supernatural happened to you folks. Sure seemed like it. And now I see you're in the know. Did you find out on or before Halloween?"

"Very much before," Buffy says dryly, not sure why she's spilling to a stranger. "How did you find out?"

Mark's face is stone. "My wife." That's all he has to say about it. Buffy shifts on her feet.

"Sorry," she murmurs again. "I'm glad you had that handled. People in this town would be better off if they were more like you."

Mark nods, "They would be, but it's hard as hell telling them that."

"Tell me about it." They both pause. "Actually, don't, because I really need to get going."

"Let me give you a lift…Buffy, right?"

"Uh, yeah. But I don't need one."

"Now, wait a minute-"

"No, I do this all the time, trust me. I'm more than okay on my own. Besides, it looks like someone else needs you." Buffy says nodding towards the young boy who had appeared behind his father's legs.

"Oh, buddy…" Mark lifts his son up and looks back to Buffy. "You sure you're okay? I don't want to be the one talking to your mother when something goes wrong."

Sadness clouds the edges of Buffy's vision. "That won't be a problem. Goodnight." She leaves and tries to keep a dignified pace until she rounds the corner. Then Buffy runs all the way home.

After showering and changing into sweatpants, a tank, and a loose cardigan, Buffy pads around the house, absentmindedly picking up, still thinking about her evening patrol. Eventually, she gathers enough dirty laundry to warrant a trip to the basement. Buffy loads up a hamper-full and goes to the kitchen.

She pauses outside the basement door. The unfortunate thing about Spike living here is that laundry can get awkward. Dawn surprised him the first morning he'd slept down there and had raced back upstairs to where Buffy was snacking in the kitchen. Her sister's face was bright red, because apparently, Spike sleeps naked.

A very firm no naked rule now exists for Spike's sleeping arrangements.

Honestly, Buffy's barely seen Spike over the last three days since coming home from her mom's surgery. The two of them keep pretty opposite schedules, especially with Buffy still struggling with school during the day.

The quiet house settles around her. Buffy knows Dawn's awake, but after a tense shouting match earlier that day, Buffy has no energy to talk to her sister. Maybe Spike would be more willing.

Buffy thumps slowly down the stairs to the basement with a basket full of laundry. The usually dark and dank room is lit with a cozy warm glow. Spike tips his head up to look at her from where he rests on the cot. The candlelight catches on his cheekbones and washes a warm color over his skin. Everything is muted, soft. Even his eyes look soft in this light. Spike has lit what seems to be at least two dozen candles and scattered them around Buffy's basement.

"You don't subscribe to electricity?" she asks dryly.

Spike smirks. "Just like candlelight. Don't always have electricity as an option you know."

"Seems like a hazardous lifestyle choice. And a surprising one, considering how burnt you just got."

Spike shrugs. He's not wearing his duster, just the black on black tshirt and jeans. Buffy watches his muscles bunch and coil under the fabric of his shirt.

"What can I say? I like to live on the edge."

Buffy can't argue with that. She shifts her laundry basket restlessly but makes no move to add it to the washer. Instead, she leans against the machine and regards Spike silently. He raises that scarred eyebrow of his.

"What is it?"

Buffy stares at him.

I'm worried. I'm lonely. I miss my mom. The house is too quiet. I don't know how to do this.

She says, "Dawn's still awake."

Spike looks at her like, 'So?'

Buffy looks away. "I just got back from patrol. It's after one in the morning. Her light's still on."

Spike knocks his head back against the wall and clasps his wrists across his bent knees. "Kid's had a scare and a half. Mum isn't in the house when she should be. Havin' a rough time of it. S'no wonder she can't sleep."

Buffy internalizes Spike's words, nodding. She turns from his knowing gaze and begins her laundry. By the time the machine is rattling about and Buffy turns back around, Spike has lazily extended his spread legs to stretch out over the cot. His heels and boot laces dangle over the edge of the bed and his hands are folded across his stomach. One tiny corner of Buffy's mouth lifts up.

"Don't you ever take your shoes off? I think those boots must be superglued to your feet."

Without breaking eye contact, Spike kicks one, then the other boot off. He waggles his eyebrows and wiggles his toes at her. Weird. Spike has toes. He does all of this with a mock serious expression. It makes Buffy snort with amusement. She leans against the washing machine more fully and crosses her arms.

"What do you even do when you're not running around actively being a pain in the ass?"

"Not much," Spike says with a half-grin. "S'a full time job after all, and one that I happen to take very seriously." He straightens importantly up against the wall and casually stretches his arms up then bends them to reach back and grab onto a shelf above his head.

Buffy hopes it's not obvious how much she's staring at his arm muscles. Damn he looks really good right now.

Woah. Woah! Buffy quickly shakes her head. Bad Buffy! Time for bed. Obviously, she was going crazy from sleep deprivation. It was one thing to notice Spike wasn't the most hideous thing to ever lay around her basement…quite another to stand there and drool over it.

Suddenly she notices where Spike's eyes are pointing at.

"Hey!" She says indignantly, conveniently forgetting where her own thoughts had just tarried. Buffy yanks her tank up higher over her cleavage and pulls her cardigan closed tight over her chest. "Eyes up here, Spike!"

He grins unrepentantly, "Up where?"

"On _my_ eyes, you pig. Were you just checking out my boobs?"

His eyes widen slightly, as if suddenly considering all the possible ways this conversation could end badly. "…no."

They stare at one another.

"Okay, yes. You're standing there," he waves at her, the washing machine, the whole damn side of the room, " _jiggling,_ and with your arms propping things up so nicely and you expect me not to look?"

Buffy gapes at him in disbelief.

He smirks at her. "Sweetheart, I'm only a man."

Pissed off, Buffy feels the poisonous words burn as they fly off her tongue.

"No, Spike, you're not. You're less than that." She beats a hasty retreat before he can voice any kind of reaction. She doesn't know what possessed her to seek out his company anyway. Buffy heads for bed, noticing in her peripheral that Dawn's light is finally off.

Spike feels like he's been slapped. He doesn't know why. So he set the Slayer off. Gee, must be Tuesday.

But something about what she'd said as she left really bothered him. Spike scrubbed a hand over his face. _Less than a man._ That was it. The part that rubbed him wrong. Spike thinks it's all a matter of perspective. He tends to consider himself _more_ than a man. More to him, more benefits, more abilities, more years to walk this earth. But the Slayer, she calls it less.

Spike calls bullshit. He smells hypocrisy.

A revelation teeters on the edge of Spike's mind.

The Slayer…says she thinks he's less than a man…and Spike finds that to be hypocritical.

It hits him like a ton of bricks.

Slayer might say he's less than a man but _her actions…_

Move in with me, Spike. You saved my sister, youdidthat, Spike. Thanks for talking to my mom, Spike. Trustin' him to patrol. Laughing at his jokes. Leaving him with the axe while she and her whole family sleep just down the hall.

Buffy Summers, the Slayer, treats him, Spike, like a man.

And he likes it. A warm glow fills Spike's chest.

He should be more concerned with all this, but honestly, he's just glad to have sussed it out. No proper demon would ever find themselves in this position, but Spike can hardly be a proper demon these days anyway.

But maybe…maybe he can be more like a man.

Spike's mind shies from the thought. He'd hated being a man. Best thing to ever happen to him was Dru finding him in that alley and tearing out his throat. He'd never lived until he died. Until he'd risen again as a vampire and learned to strut instead of crawl.

Not much strutting happening these days. What _had_ been happening was crazy, on a lot of levels, and Spike is pretty familiar with the levels of crazy.

Buffy treats him like a man. Spike can't help but like it. And now that he's realized it, he can't help but wanting to keep doing it. Acting like a man.

Spike's stomach turns uncomfortably. Just for her, though. Otherwise he's demon through and through. The Slayer is extraordinary enough on her own that Spike doesn't feel lessened in some way by trying to meet her standards. In fact, Spike is the type of guy who thrives on impossible challenges.

Act the man for Buffy? Just see if he can't do it.


	17. Chapter 17

Accursed Chapter 17

Buffy trudges through her front door and stamps all the stupid snow off her boots. There's so much snow on the ground that the annoying cold stuff falls into the top of her boots and down her socks when she walks through it.

Snow may look pretty on greeting cards and in movies and stuff, but Buffy is heartily sick of it.

Today's ranked pretty high on the suck-o-meter already. Buffy is just now getting back from dropping out of college. Yay her. Going places. But Buffy knows she can't handle school on top of everything else right now. Most of her professors were understanding, but some didn't even seem to know who Buffy was, much less care she wouldn't be coming back. Kind of depressing, really.

Buffy hears Spike and Dawn's voices overlapping in the kitchen.

She frowns. With Mom gone, there are no good cooks left in the house and that includes Spike. As much as they really don't have the money to order out for food, Buffy is also leery of whatever the duo in the kitchen are concocting.

Buffy sheds her winter coat, scarf, hat, gloves, and sweater like some kind of strange puffy insect. Stupid cold. Stupid snow. Buffy walks to the kitchen and stops in the doorway.

Suds cover the kitchen floor. Like, a mountain of suds. On either side of the white, soapy foam, Spike and Dawn look up guiltily.

Dawn points at Spike. "He did it."

"Oi! Throw me under the bus, why don't you."

"Uh, yeah. This is your fault." Dawn rolls her eyes at Buffy. "He put the wrong dishwasher stuff in."

Buffy groans. "How?" Dawn holds up some dishwashing liquid in response.

Buffy glares at Spike. "That's for handwashing dishes. You use the other stuff for—"

"For the dishwasher, I know." Spike grumbles. "Nibblet just read me the riot act. Honestly, I'd think you people would just be grateful I'm contributing at all. Vampire, here. Not exactly known for housekeeping."

Buffy rubs her forehead. "Yeah, but this is like basic knowledge…"

Spike throws his hands in the air. "You realize that I'm not from this century? This is practically black magic, right here."

Buffy and Dawn snort at the same time, in the same way.

Dawn adopts an old geezer tone. "Back in my day..."

"You can work computers, the microwave, the TV, and you drive cars. _Black magic._ Yeah, right." Buffy shakes her head, a smile curling her mouth. Suds-ing up the kitchen was a nice problem. Easy to fix. Speaking of. "You're cleaning this up."

Spike pouts. Actually pouts with the lip and the eyes and everything. "I tried cleaning up and it made a mess. Can't we just move the important kitchen things to another room?"

Buffy goggles at him. "Seriously?"

"Argh! Fine. How do I even do this? Can I just sweep this shit out the door?"

Dawn's giggling fills the air between them. A nice sound, one Buffy's missed lately.

"Um, I'm not sure what would happen if that stuff got cold and froze outside," Buffy says, trying to maintain a straight face. "Mop it up with towels or something. Geez, toddler much?" Buffy watches Spike stomp off to the linen closet and return with towels. He hands a few off to Buffy. She narrows her eyes at him. "Are you playing stupid so I'll help you?"

Spike's mouth twitches.

Buffy throws the towels in his face and leaves the room, dragging a still-laughing Dawn with her.

A very clean-smelling kitchen and a grilled cheese, tomato soup dinner later, Buffy is sprawled out on the living room couch. Dawn lies on the floor on her stomach working on her homework.

Spike returns from a smoke break outside. He plops down next to Buffy.

"Ack! Spike!" She shoves his freezing bare arm and hand away from her. Spike grins at her and steals half her blankets. "Hey!"

"Want me to warm up or not?" Spike asks.

Buffy concedes the point and half of her blankets. The big boss fight rages on TV, signaling the tail end of the martial arts flick Buffy put on for background noise.

Next to her, Spike snorts. "Quite a bit of unnecessary jumping and flipping."

"Tell me about it," Buffy mutters. "Oooh! Watch ponytail guy now, his punches are just silly."

War cries and thuds of flesh ring out from the television set. Spike sees what she means and laughs.

"If Nancy-boy there had any brains, he would've rushed Ponytail. Idiot leaves himself wide open."

Dawn cranes her head back to raise an eyebrow at the pair on the couch. Neither Slayer nor vampire notice.

"This fight would've been over, like, ten minutes ago if they'd just taken out Mr. Sword guy first," Buffy complains.

Dawn grins to herself and swings her feet in the air as she returns to her math problems. She doesn't think Buffy's realized she and Spike are practically leaning against each other.

The movie wraps up eventually and Dawn heads upstairs. Spike stretches his legs out.

"Not a bad pick, Slayer."

Buffy shrugs. "Yeah, those movies are funny once in a while." She switches the TV back to the news channel and sneaks a look at Spike from under her eyelashes.

Despite totally snapping on him in the basement a couple days ago, Spike has been pretty cool around Buffy, even helpful. Well, sort of helpful. Spike seems to mess up most things he tries to do right. The dishwasher fiasco is a prime example. Not to mention the time Buffy heard him tell Dawn school only existed to spit out mindless automatons. Spike quickly backtracked and emphasized that school attendance was important, but he still kind of messed up the message.

"You still okay in the basement? Got everything you need?" Buffy finds herself asking.

Spike grins at her. "Love, compared to where I was, it's like the Hilton." Buffy's face heats a little. One of his arms is stretched across the back of the couch behind her. She suddenly notices how close their faces are.

It's him calling her 'love' that does it. Buffy stands quickly. "I, uh…"

Spike tips his head back to meet her eyes. The movement bares his throat to her and the sight of it makes Buffy feel warm and tingly for some reason.

Buffy squirms. Down, girl. Pretty guy, but bad, bad consequences. She's not even tempted. Really. Well, she's tempted but not enough to act on it. Come on, she isn't crazy.

"I need to call Willow."

Buffy honestly didn't mean for that to sound like she needed to call her sponsor or something. Spike's darkened eyes press on her skin like a hot brand and Buffy can feel them follow her as she flees upstairs.

Back on the couch, Spike closes his eyes and inhales and exhales carefully through his nose. He stands and heads for the basement.

Unnoticed, the news continues to play on low volume. The camera pans to different homes and children's bedrooms, showing each small, unmade bed. The camera angle changes, filling the screen with a news reporter interviewing the upset and tearful faces of different parents.

" _If anyone has any information about these disappearances, contact Sunnydale PD immediately."_

"So Giles didn't call you yet?" Willow's voice sounds small through the phone line. Buffy frowns.

"No, did something happen?"

"Yeah…Buffy have you been watching the news?"

"Not really." Buffy says, trepidation filling her.

Willow hesitates for so long Buffy fears she may have hung up. "That boy from the snow globe…he didn't make it."

Crackling silence.

Willow clears her throat. "He um." A wet sniffle. "The dog got loose from animal control and went back to its owners' house. Dillon was building a snow fort in the backyard…Goddess! It's terrible. Xander's practically beside himself." Willow pauses. "Buffy?"

No answer.

"W-well, Giles is saying now he thinks we might not be able to change the fate the snow globes show. I mean, we found the family and Xander convinced them to take the dog away, what else could we do? It's like it was going to happen no matter what." Willow waits for a response. "Buffy? Are you still there?"

"When was the meeting." Buffy's voice is dead. She stares blankly at the New Kids on the Block poster on her wall.

"There wasn't really a meeting," Willow says in a subdued voice. "We just all happened to be at the Magic Box yesterday when it came on the news."

"Yesterday." Buffy says.

"I thought Giles called you." Willow says apologetically. "Everyone's pretty upset, I guess he probably just forgot."

Buffy grips her comforter with a clenched fist. "Is that it?"

"Huh?"

"That's all I need to be caught up on?"

"Yeah. Are you okay? I mean, obviously you're not, I should've done this in person, I'm sorry Buffy."

"It's not your fault Will."

"It's not yours either."

"I know." Buffy inhales shakily.

"The visitation is tomorrow if you want to go. The family actually called Xander and invited him. We're all welcome."

"Okay. Yeah, I-I'd like to." Buffy hangs up shortly after. She looks up to see Spike in her doorway.

"What do you want?" she asks tiredly.

Spike shifts on his feet. "Heard your heart hammering."

Oh.

Buffy's eyes burn. "Could you hear—"

"Caught the last bit."

Things fall quiet between them. Buffy scrubs at her face. "We just can't win," she mutters.

"Reckon this means we ought to step up the search for that Ethan bloke, yeah? Rupert seems to think he's the cause of all this."

"Yeah."

Spike lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck. His gaze sweeps around Buffy's room. "You alright, then?"

Buffy stares back expressionlessly.

"Figured as much." Spike says, looking like he was kicking himself. He sends her one last lingering look of concern, then pushes away from her doorframe.

"Thanks for checking," Buffy says softly to her empty doorway. She hears his feet pause on the stair before continuing on down.

Days pass.

The winds pick up. Fat flakes of snow swirl through the air, falling heavier and heavier until visibility is nearly zero.

Sunnydale experiences its first blizzard. Schools shut down, airports shut down, everything shuts down. The city doesn't have the means to remove snow, much less snow in such large amounts. Citizens hunker down in their homes all across town to ride it out.

When the snow storm finally dies down, weak sunlight fights its way to the streets of Sunnydale.

"I feel like I need a parka and sunglasses," Buffy grumbles, squinting out the picture window in the living room. "This is so unnatural."

The sound of scraping snowplows rumbles in the distance. It took a whole extra day to bring the machines in from some out of town place. Buffy peers down the street, trying to catch a glimpse of the unfamiliar machines.

"Bit strange for Cali, isn't it?" Spike says from the dining room where he's teaching Dawn chess.

Dawn shrugs and moves her rook. "I like it. No school."

Buffy sighs. "Yeah, and there's been no leaving the house for anything else either. We need groceries. Today." She looks over to her sister and their vampy houseguest. "Hint, hint."

The two glance up. "Wait, you want us to come with you?" Dawn asks.

"Uh, yeah."

"Can't with the sun up," Spike says, not sounding terribly sorry about it. His queen snags up Dawn's rook. Dawn scowls at the board. "Pick up some blood while you're out?"

Buffy glares. "We need someone to drive."

Spike sighs. "Gotta wait for nightfall, then. And are you positive Joyce wouldn't mind me taking over her wheels?"

"I'm pretty sure she'd prefer you driving to me or Dawn."

Dawn looks up with a grin. "I'll drive!"

Buffy and Spike answer as one, "No."

Buffy and Spike shove and heave Joyce's Jeep Cherokee Sport down the snow covered driveway and onto the mostly plowed road. Dawn steers the wheel in neutral with a manic grin.

"Can't believe you people don't own a shovel," Spike pants as he fits his shoulder to the front of the jeep.

"California!" Is all Buffy manages in return.

As soon as the jeep hits the street, Spike winds around to the driver's side door and physically removes Dawn from the vehicle.

"Hey!" Dawn squawks. Buffy takes the passenger side and Dawn crawls in the back. Spike adjusts his seat and mirrors and looks over at Buffy.

The Slayer stares straight ahead. "We never tell Mom about this."

Dawn pouts in the back. "I could totally drive to the store." Neither Buffy nor Spike bother replying.

In SunnyMart, the aisles are crowded with people who have the exact same idea.

"Geez, why is everyone shoving?" Dawn complains after some lady nearly bowls her over with a shopping cart.

"Humans are panicky creatures," Spike says with a sneer at the bustling crowd. "Little bad weather and they treat it like the sodding apocalypse." His eyes go distant. "Hmm. Snowpocalypse?"

Buffy groans at the terrible pun. "Focus, people." Between the three of them, Spike and the Summers sisters manage to fill their cart with enough food to last a few more weeks.

Buffy hopes this is the last time she has to do this without her mom.

With one final stop to the butcher counter to order Spike more blood, they finish up and head to the check-out line. A line that stretches back nearly half the store.

Spike groans. "Why do you have to be such a bunch of white-hats? If you weren't, we could just take this cart straight out to the car, no worries about a line."

Buffy rolls her eyes. "That's stealing. That's wrong. If everyone stole, there probably wouldn't be food in this store. Actually, there might not be stores anymore." She frowns. "Right?"

"Yeah, that would be looting and rioting you're thinking of, Slayer."

"There you go." Buffy says, all judge, jury and executioner-style.

Spike grumbles under his breath.

"Dawn!" A frantic voice calls from somewhere in the crowd. "Dawn Summers!"

Dawn whips around and hops to her tip toes. "That's Janice's mom! Where is she? I can't see."

Buffy spots the woman shoving her way to them through knots of people. Francine finally reaches them, immediately latching onto Dawn in a way that has Spike bristling.

"Oh, god, Dawn! Have you seen Janice?"

Dawn's eyes widen. "N-no. Not since before the big snow storm. Sorry Mrs. Penshaw."

Francine cries out in despair. The woman quickly turns to Buffy. "You haven't seen her, have you? I know you walk around town a lot, you must see things." Francine's eyes are panicked.

"No, I haven't." Buffy says. "Is she missing?"

"For two days!" Francine cries out. "I think she must have snuck out before the snow got so bad. Now…now..."

"Have you told the police?" Buffy asks, a first for her. She has no faith in the police force in Sunnydale, but missing persons in a storm might be right up their alley.

"Of course I have, but they are so swamped with other cases, I'm just afraid—" Francine breaks off and puts a hand over her eyes. Gathering a few deep breaths, she continues. "Please call if you see her. If she comes to see Dawn."

"We will." Buffy assures the frazzled woman.

"Keep an eye on her," Francine adds, squeezing Dawn's shoulder. "My Janice isn't the only missing child in Sunnydale this week."

Dawn's face is white. Buffy frowns at the woman. "We will." She says again.

Francine Penshaw takes her leave. Buffy can hear her pleas repeated to others in the store.

Spike inches the cart forward, eyes on Dawn. The girl's face is absolutely stricken.

"You really don't know, Dawnie?" Buffy asks softly.

"No. Janice didn't tell me anything about sneaking out." Dawn whispers, almost unheard over the rush of the crowd around them.

Buffy wraps an arm around her sister's shaking shoulders. She doesn't offer any condolences or hope. She knows her sister would hear the falsity in such words. This is Sunnydale, after all. When you go missing, you aren't often found.


	18. Chapter 18

Accursed Chapter 18

"I guess this wasn't really a good time for a game night, huh?" Xander remarks as the rest of the gang tidy up from the much-shortened evening.

"Not really feeling it." Buffy agrees. She dumps the mostly uneaten snacks into the garbage bin.

Willow straightens the cards into a neat deck and puts them back in their sleeve. "At least we tried," the redhead says with forced cheer. Tara smiles sadly at her side.

"It was a good thought," Giles adds from his position on the couch. "We are all of us so burnt out from the last few months, breaks can and should be taken, no matter how busy we become." Next to him, Anya nods smartly.

"Fun should stay a priority. I have no wish to spend my fleeting youth in fear and misery."

Buffy excuses herself to use the restroom. Upstairs, she splashes water onto her face and avoids her eyes in the mirror. Buffy doesn't want to see how tired and run down she looks.

The sound of her watcher and friends cleaning up after their failed game night floats up to her. Ordinary and comforting. Even if no one felt in the mood for jokes or snacks or games, tonight was a good night. She really needs to invite everyone over more often.

Buffy hesitates in the hallway. She can hear Xander and Spike sniping at each other in relative good humor.

"Hey! Before we leave, Spike, I got you something." Buffy can hear Xander announce. "A little basement-warming gift." The next few bits are too faint to catch, and then:

"You 'installed' a 'gift' for me in the place I sleep?" Spike's voice rings clear and incredulous. "What the bloody…"

Buffy shrugs to herself. Things seem okay down there. She turns the other way and creeps up to her mother's bedroom door.

Buffy quietly enters the still, dark room. Her mom's things are still flung around from when she packed her bags for the hospital stay. Joyce's closet is exposed, some clothes only half on the hangers. With the door shut all the time, the smell of her mom's shampoo and perfume still permeates the air. Buffy edges over to the bed and sinks down, closing her eyes and just breathing.

It's almost like her mom is sitting with Buffy, quiet and understanding.

Her mom didn't always know when to keep her distance and that used to drive Buffy crazy. Now, she'd give anything to be held or bothered or scolded or bored by some long story…

When Buffy returns to the first floor, no one is around. She hears voices in the basement and goes down to investigate.

Halfway down the stairs, Buffy hears a strangled noise. She quickly hops down the last of the steps and sweeps her gaze around for anything new and possibly upsetting that had been added to her basement-Spike's bedroom.

It's pretty clear, right off the bat. Spike stands, hand clutching his forehead, in front of a large poster with a silly cartoon vampire pasted to the wall.

"I vant to suck your blood?" Buffy reads out loud. She grins a little, despite herself, and turns to Xander. "Where did this come from?"

"The shop." Anya cuts in. "This is why you wanted to keep that dingy old thing?" Anya asks Xander.

Xander ignores both questions, entirely focused on Spike's reaction. The vamp is taking deep calming breaths. Spike casts around for a moment, then picks up a pocketknife from the makeshift end table by his bed.

"Don't mark up my walls!" Buffy says with sudden alarm at the intent look in Spike's eyes.

Dawn sidles up close to goofily grinning vampire. She tilts her head. "I like him."

"He's insipid!" Spike growls. "A bloody wanker." He glares over at Xander. "You tryna piss me off?"

"Is it working?"

"Argh! I'm not sleeping with that thing in here." Spike tries to move around Dawn to slash the poster, but Buffy's sister gets in the way.

"Spike, I like it. Please don't wreck it." Dawn's eyes plead with him. Spike visibly hesitates. Really, it's the most interest Dawn's shown in anything since word came that Janice was MIA.

Spike raises a disbelieving eyebrow. "Why don't you put it in your room, then?"

Dawn wrinkles her nose. "Ew, no way."

Spike jerks his chin. "Outta the way, Bit."

Next to Buffy, Willow gently shoves Xander's shoulder. "You just had to stir the pot."

Xander shrugs. "Well, yeah. Soon as I saw this thing bothered Spike, I knew I had to capitalize on it."

"Xander…" Tara's voice is amused and scolding.

"What? Need I remind you people that I had to live with this jerk once upon a time? Lamp-stealing, goading, smirk-y, get-in-my-business jerk? I owe him some payback!"

Spike glares at Xander. "You don't know what you're starting, whelp. If it's a game of 'make someone's life miserable' you want to play, this may be a decent first move, but I've played in the big leagues for decades. And my old playmates were much more vicious and creative."

"Pshh."

Anya frowns at Spike. "We don't want to play that game."

"So take this damn thing back!"

"Oh my god, you are all ridiculous," Buffy breaks in. "Spike, just leave it. I don't want you marking up my walls. Cover it if you want," she interrupts his rebuttal, "but leave it alone. Xander." Buffy sends her friend a quelling look. "Stop provoking my vampire."

Xander blinks. Giles makes a curious choking noise. Spike's head whips toward her. Buffy, not realizing what she's said, continues on. "Is it too much to ask for you all to get along? We've got enough going on without a bunch of silly prank wars."

Xander sighs. "Fine, fine." He grins at Spike. Spike flips him off, American-style, so there was no question of what he was doing.

"Why does it bother you so much?" Tara asks, genuinely curious.

Willow perks up. "Oh! I know! I mean, I wouldn't like a big stereotypical poster of witches in my room." Tara's eyes light up in understanding.

Spike crosses his arms. "Well yeah, look at it. Bloody travesty. Would you take a bloke like him seriously? It's insulting to vamps everywhere."

Dawn shrugs. "It's not like we don't know what vampires really look like."

"Yeah, I don't think anyone's going to mistake this for a real vampire." Buffy says dryly. "They're usually more fang-y, less friendly."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Giles remarks flatly, "that you haven't mistaken Spike for a friendlier, less fang-y vampire such as this poster depicts."

Gauntlet thrown.

Xander, Anya, Willow, and Tara subconsciously step back, clearing the way between Giles and Spike.

Spike stares at Giles, not in anger, but in horror. Spike quickly turns to Buffy who's already shaking her head.

"Slayer, say it isn't so. You don't see me like this, do you?" His eyes are panicked.

"Spike, no. Giles is overreacting—"

"You'd tell me if you actually thought I was some fluffy kitten version of a true vamp, right? You'd level with me?"

Buffy and Spike are turned in to each other, close and confiding, like old friends sharing secrets. Willow stares at Buffy with dawning surprise. She sees Spike's blue eyes implore Buffy, and then how quick her best friend is to reassure him.

"Spike, I haven't forgotten. You can relax. There's no way I'd ever mistake you for some goofy, un-scary menace." Buffy's voice is soothing. "Irritating pain-in-my-ass, maybe. But I remember—Big Bad, blah, blah, blah." She smiles a little at him as he sighs in relief.

"Gonna give a vamp a heart attack. You really think so little of me?" Spike glares at Giles and proceeds to flip _him_ off, British-style. A vein is throbbing at Giles' temple.

Spike shakes his limbs out, suddenly, like shaking off dirty water. He scowls. "Sanctity of my space, invaded again. I don't have to put up with this. Come on, Nibblet." Spike leads Dawn back upstairs.

Buffy rounds on Giles. "What is your problem?"

Giles thins his lips. "Buffy, you don't even see what you're doing. How close you've allowed yourself to become. There have been disturbing undertones for quite some time and now-"

Buffy flings her arms out in sharp angles, frustrated. "What don't you like here, Giles? That Spike's a vampire or that he's anti-establishment? Cuz I'm thinking you just don't like him."

Giles runs his fingers over his twisted brow. "A bit of both, actually," the older man mutters.

"Okay, well that's not a good enough reason to keep verbally attacking a-a _guest_ in my home."

"A guest," Giles scoffs. "He's a vampire you've taken to trusting far too much."

"You don't trust my judgement?"

"I don't trust _him._ A vampire in your home? Trusting him, confiding in him, defending him? My dear, we've been here before."

Tara and Anya exchange confused, uncomfortable looks. Xander's face falls flat and Willow's eyes widen.

Buffy's expression becomes thunderous. Her voice drops to a furious whisper. "Oh, so that's what this is about." She laughs incredulously. "There goes Buffy, inviting a vampire into her house again. Forget that he can't hurt anyone, forget that he's proven himself trustworthy of her family—he must be bad news. She must be crazy for working with him."

Giles' face is pinched and pale. "Buffy—"

Her voice rises unsteadily.

"Buffy's on friendly terms with a vampire? Oh, it must mean she's going to jump his bones!" Upstairs, something clearly shatters as it's dropped in the kitchen. "Watch out! By this time next week, she'll have screwed the chip right out of his skull! He'll be on a murder-spree for sure. That's what always happens when Buffy hangs out with those vampire dudes. Spreading her legs, ending the world."

Willow's hands are clapped over her mouth. Xander's back hits the wall, like he's trying to escape.

Two bright red spots appear high on Giles' cheekbones. "You act as if it's never happened before! Well, it damn well has, and I won't be taken in by this again. Vampires cannot be trusted."

"You mean I can't be trusted!" Buffy shouts, furious and tearful. "Why don't you say what you really mean, Giles."

"I have!" Giles takes several deep breaths. "Buffy, of course I trust you. But I don't want another Angelus-sized disaster on our hands. We cannot afford to let Spike have that sort of power over us, over you."

"He doesn't! And he isn't Angel."

"No, he isn't. At least Angel had a soul, however briefly."

Buffy's hands clench into fists. "Is this you trying to help, Giles? Do me a favor; stop helping!"

Upstairs, Dawn hears the ebb and flow of the Scooby argument. She glances up at Spike. He's preparing blood in his happy face mug, but clearly, he's eavesdropping on the conversation below. Dawn doesn't blame him. They are talking about him. Like, in his bedroom, too.

She doesn't see the big deal. Nobody put up any kind of fuss over Anya or Oz. Spike was part of the group. What's left to talk about?

Dawn dumps a small pile of trail mix on her plate and fastidiously arranges the pieces into some kind of abstract art. Dawn's tempted to take a picture so she can show Janice—

Dawn hunches her shoulders and bites her lip.

Spike grabs a stool and sits next to her in a hurry, head cocked toward the basement. He takes in her slumped form. "You okay, Bit?"

Dawn crunches her pretzels into dust.

He frowns down at her. "Big sis and I have been looking for your friend on patrol, you know. If she can be found, we'll find her."

Dawn doesn't think that's likely to happen. She also doesn't think it's a coincidence that Janice went missing after that Cousin It thing started using Janice's voice. Dawn wonders if the creature has been stalking her friend this whole time, too.

Spike jerks, all of a sudden, and clumsily drops his mug.

The dozen smiley faces shatter into a hundred little ceramic pieces all over the floor. Dawn jumps at the noise.

"Sorry," Spike croaks. His eyes are wide and dark on the basement door.

"They're talking about you?" Dawn asks.

Spike swallows a couple of times and nods shortly. He gets up and aimlessly circles around the kitchen. Pacing, not cleaning. Dawn hops down from her stool and grabs the broom.

Spike notices her actions and intercepts her. "Here, I've got it. S'my mess, anyhow."

Dawn wrinkles her nose as Spike sweeps up the broken mug. There's a bunch of blood left on the floor. Dawn doesn't think Spike's thought through blood plus broom equals pretty much ruined broom…

Over his shoulder, Dawn has a clear view of the kitchen window.

Cousin It is there, hairy face pressed against the outside pane. It has a clear view of Dawn.

Dawn's body seizes up, fear and anger and a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach tangling up her impulses. She's pretty sure that thing is the reason Janice is gone.

Dawn doesn't want to be next.

Spike makes a pissed off, disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. Dawn looks to him hopefully, but he's gone back to listening to the Scoobies.

He doesn't notice Cousin It. No one ever does.

Dawn can feel the words she wants to say to Spike stick in her throat. Her mouth is dry. She can't speak.

Dawn grabs Spike's arm, halting his unnecessarily strong sweeping motions. Spike's attention refocuses on her.

"What's wrong?" Spike says immediately. He drops the broom and touches her cheek. "You look…"

"Spike," Dawn whispers. She looks over his shoulder again. The creature is gone. Tears fill her eyes. Dawn moves her gaze back to Spike's face. His blue eyes bore into hers, attention riveted and concerned. These are not a monster's eyes. Dawn knows the difference, now. She has to tell him…just in case no one else does. In case she won't be able to anymore.

"I don't think you're a monster." Dawn chokes out.

Spike's brow furrows. "I damn well am," he starts, defensively.

" _No,_ you're not." Dawn hugs him impulsively. Spike cautiously returns her embrace with one arm. Dawn sniffles wetly into his shirt. "I love you, Spike."

The words rush from her. You have to tell people this stuff before it's too late. Like saying goodbye. Like with Mom. Dawn has a terrible feeling she needs to get her goodbyes out of the way tonight. She might as well start with the vamp who's become like her big brother.

Spike stiffens. He pushes her back to peer at her. "Dawn?"

Footsteps on the stairs. Dawn pulls away and flees the scene.

The first thing Buffy notices as she leads the pack upstairs is the blood on the floor. Her heart clenches for a moment and she starts looking frantically for her sister until she realizes that Spike just spilled his mug of blood.

Buffy's face goes red when she remembers vampire hearing.

Spike isn't paying attention to her, though. He's looking up at the ceiling. A door slams upstairs. Dawn. Buffy frowns.

The rest of the gang push their way past her out of the basement.

"Oh." Anya says. "I hope you're cleaning that up. Blood does not belong in the kitchen. Very unsanitary."

Spike swings his head towards the kitchen window. He strides over, grips the sink and leans in, looking out to the backyard.

Unease fills Buffy. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Spike mutters. "Was just talking to your sister. Gonna check something out." He slips out the back door.

Buffy's insides are cold and tense. She hesitates at the door, wanting to go after Spike and demand a better explanation. But she also knows he can be counted on to do a thorough sweep of the outside. Buffy needs to see Dawn.

"Is something out there?" Willow asks. Her whole manner is subdued. As far as Scooby fights go, that had been a pretty vicious one.

"I don't know." Buffy says absently. She moves to the staircase. "Dawn!"

"What?" Her sister's voice echoes down. Dawn comes out and frowns at the whole gang gathered below. "Are you guys done fighting?"

Giles shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth, heel to toe.

"Yeah, we're done." Buffy says firmly. "What were you and Spike talking about? He's acting weird."

Dawn doesn't meet her eyes. "I dunno. Nothing much. Something freaked him out and he dropped his blood. I think he was listening to you guys talk about what an awful person he's supposed to be."

Xander shuffles his feet. "Really wasn't supposed to go that way…"

Buffy frowns up at Dawn. "Come down here, please. Something's up."

Dawn slowly descends. Her face is filled with anxiety. Buffy softens her tone. "I'm sure it's nothing, but better safe than sorry."

Where were all these Mom-isms coming from? It's like Buffy knows what her mom would be saying if she were here and Buffy's mouth fills the space with all the old sayings just to get them out there.

The whole group settles in the living room. Dawn hovers, standing then sitting then standing again.

Giles opens his mouth like he's going to question Dawn, but thinks better of it. The older Brit paces the length of the room.

Spike strides in through the front door and right up to Dawn without stopping.

"What?" Dawn asks, nervously. "Hey!"

Spike grabs her shoulders and steers her to the couch to sit. Spike yanks the curtains closed and perches on the coffee table in front of Dawn. He leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes intent.

"You're being hunted." Spike says. His expression wards off any of Dawn's potential protests. "How long?"

Buffy's mouth drops open. "What?" She looks at her sister. "What is he talking about?"

Dawn tries to make herself smaller against the couch.

Buffy moves in and grabs Spike's shoulder. "Hey! Is something out there? What did you—"

"Didn't see anything." Spike interrupts, still staring Dawn down. "You've been seeing things, though, haven't you? Always starin' out windows, very jumpy, not sleeping…you're being hunted. That's what that whole thing in the kitchen was about just now."

"What whole thing?" Buffy asks, gaze flipping between Spike and her sister.

Spike scowls. "Violating my personal space and emotional boundaries, normal enough for you Summers women, but this really took the cake. You planning on going somewhere, Bit? Cuz that sounded like a goodbye to me."

Dawn's face pinks and she scrunches her eyes shut.

"Dawn." Buffy says. "Is it true? You—Oh my god." Buffy straightens with horrible insight. "Cousin It! That thing you saw that we couldn't see? It was in my Slayer dream…Dawn! Has it been around since that first time?"

Dawn's guilty expression says it all.

Buffy's world tilts. She shoves Spike over to sit in front of her sister. "How many times?"

On the couch, Dawn stares sullenly down at her feet. Buffy follows her gaze to her sister's black and purple neon sneakers. Panic fills her. She remembers, in a flash, the dream version of this moment where the creature sat next to Dawn and pointed at Buffy, warning her away.

Buffy wonders if you can get cursed in dreams. How could she have been so blind?

"Dawn," Buffy's voice is furious and anxious.

"A few times. At school, at home."

" _At school?_ How?"

"I don't know. During the day. It just waits outside windows and looks in. It never does anything. Mostly at night, at home."

"Define 'a few times.'" Giles breaks in.

"Has it ever come inside?" Willow adds, concerned.

The Scoobies do well when they have an external problem to focus on. It helps pave over internal issues. Tara's eyes drift over the group, reading the shifting energies.

Spike paces by the wall, running his hands through his hair, loosening the gel.

Dawn squirms under the interrogation. "I-I don't know. Maybe…six or seven times." Buffy and her friends stare back at Dawn in horror. "At school." Dawns finishes in a small voice.

Buffy stares her down, unblinking. "Total, Dawn."

"I never kept track." Dawn mutters. "Probably around…twenty times. Maybe more."

Buffy moves from sitting to pacing in one powerful lunge. "So, this thing is _stalking_ you." Buffy faces Dawn. "Why didn't you say anything? How could you…you should know better!"

"I didn't wanna worry you, okay!" Dawn shouts back. Tears gather in the corner of her eyes. "Mom was sick and then she was gone and you've been so busy…I didn't think it was a big deal at first. I thought I could handle it!"

Giles shakes his head. "Always, always, seek help in these matters, Dawn. Stalking of any kind, much less when the perpetrator is of supernatural origin, usually requires outside help."

Guilt crashes over Buffy. "I'm never too busy for you Dawn. Never. You can always come to me. This is what I do. I take care of this stuff."

Dawn hugs herself. "I know. You're so brave and you do it all the time. This was such a little thing. I should be able to handle it, too."

"Oh, Dawnie, no…" Buffy flings herself onto the couch and pulls her resisting sister into a hug.

The antagonism between the sisters fades and Dawn leans into Buffy's embrace. "I'm sorry Dawnie." Buffy says, muffled into her hair. "Some sister I am, huh?"

"You're great, for a stupid-head." Dawn says, relief leaving her limbs shaky. The secret lifts from her and Dawn feels like she can breathe for the first time in months.

"We'll get this figured out." Xander says firmly. "No one messes with the Dawn-meister."

Willow nods. "I'm sure we can get some kind of protective charm set up for you, Dawnie." Willow looks to Giles and over to Tara. "Something to put on her person, maybe? To ward off ill-intent?"

"We can certainly look into that."

"Are you mad at me, too?" Dawn whispers. Spike pauses his agitated pacing, glaring off to the side. Dawn's voice goes fragile. "You seem mad."

"Heh," Spike's pent-up emotion expels out on a rushed breath. "I'm not mad. I'm-I'm frustrated. This is so frustrating!" Wound up, Spike ranges around the room, still not looking at Dawn. He mutters to himself. "Stupid, stupid…"

Tara's eyes are soft and sympathetic when she looks at him. Willow ducks back from Spike's wildly gesturing arms.

"You—you—I'll tell you what the problem is. I give a shit about whether you live or die. And you!" Spike pins Dawn with a glare. "You're like the love child of a lemming and a mayfly. Darwin wrote out his theories based on the likes of you! You're the weak link meant to die off and I've idiotically gone and gotten emotionally attached! There's a reason demons don't take up with humans! Ugh!" Spike resumes pacing.

"Sorry," Dawn says hoarsely.

"No, no. That's not good enough. Don't be sorry, be smarter!"

"Spike," Buffy cuts in warningly. Spike ignores her.

"I don't want you to die, I want you to live. And you…you're such prey. You're prey." Spike says, almost in surprise, like he's just realizing it himself. "That's your whole problem. You look like prey, act like prey, smell like prey, _think_ like prey." Spike slows and looks at Dawn beseechingly. "Do you realize what it is you've done? You mustn't. I seem to remember there being a learning curve when I went from human to demon. I'll tell you what you've done, here. You," Spike stabs a finger at Dawn, "are the wounded antelope, limping your way to safety. Whatever this thing is that's following you, it's the predator keeping pace with you just out of sight, making you think you're safely out of its claws, but you're not. Its running you down, keeping you ragged and scared and tired and when you finally let your guard down—when you can't fight back at all—" Spike claps his hands together. "That's when it'll devour you whole."

Dawn bursts into tears.

Giles, Buffy, and the others, who up until this point were all staring at Spike with varying degrees of surprise and understanding snap to attention at Dawn's cries.

Buffy glares at him, but Spike doesn't see that. He's completely focused on the crying girl on the couch.

Spike's anger and frustration visibly deflates from his body. He tugs a hand through his hair. "Oh…no. Don't do that." Spike makes a couple arrested movements, like he's caught between escaping and comforting. He grabs up a box of tissues and violently rips several out. He quickly shoves the tissues in Dawn's face. She sniffles miserably.

"Ah, shit, Nibblet. Mop it up, here." He drops the bundle in her lap when she doesn't take them herself. "Quit leaking everywhere. It's not as bad as all that. I was just ranting, I didn't mean…" Spike looks at Buffy for the first time. "I didn't _mean_ to."

"I know." Buffy says quietly.

"I'm sorry," Spike says to Dawn, his face twisted up uncertainly. "I'm not mad, really. It just comes across…" He twists his hands together, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture.

Spike seems to remember he has a larger audience. He quickly stands and grabs up his coat.

"Where are you going?" Buffy asks.

"Out." Spike says tightly, casting conflicted glances back to Buffy and Dawn. He pushes past Giles on his way out the door.

Rupert Giles' face, slack in surprise, is the last thing Spike sees before pulling the door shut behind him.


	19. Chapter 19

Accursed Chapter 19

Dawn hiccups. "H-he hates me!"

Buffy tears her gaze away from the front door where Spike just exited. "He doesn't hate you, Dawn." Buffy strokes her sister's hair back behind her ear. "Spike's just worried. We all are. No one wants anything bad to happen to you."

Dawn gathers up the whole bundle of tissues in her lap and swipes at her face, hiding her expression.

Willow gulps. "We won't go home until we have a solid protection spell in place, okay? We'll figure this out."

Giles is still staring at the closed front door.

Tara grabs her backpack and begins pulling out some spell books.

"You always carry around a bunch of magical texts?" Anya asks curiously.

Tara shrugs self-consciously. "Just the generally helpful ones for situations that crop up like this. Protection spells, un-inviting spells, finding spells…we use those a lot and need them on short notice so I keep these on me if I can."

"Good idea." Anya praises. Tara smiles shyly. Anya frowns over at Dawn. "Spike's right, you know. You've handled yourself poorly. I am also used to your company. It would bother me if you suddenly disappeared or were gobbled up. Not to mention, Xander would be a complete wreck. That just won't do. Don't get eaten." Anya shakes her finger at Dawn.

Dawn sniffles. "I don't want anything to happen to me either. Seriously."

Buffy stands. "So that's settled, then." She looks over to her Watcher. "Will you all stay here with Dawn? I'm gonna go shake down some demons, see if I can find anything out about Dawn's invisible stalker."

Giles clasps his hands together loosely between his knees. "Of course," he says softly. He doesn't look at Buffy.

Buffy grabs her gear, hugs her sister one final time, and stomps her way outside through the drifting snow.

Buffy follows Spike's tracks for as long as she can. Eventually though, his tracks are muddled by tire lines and other people's footprints. Buffy checks around.

"Spike!" She calls out, voice ringing through the empty streets. There's no answer. Heart sinking a little, Buffy pushes on to Willy's bar.

By the time Buffy rounds the corner to the street where Willy's bar resides, her face is numb from the cold and the sections of her pants above her boots are soaked with snow and rubbing irritatingly against her skin.

She's in a pretty bad mood from that alone, and in addition to her thoughts on her sister's situation? Buffy is ready to crack skulls.

Buffy halts in place. Did she miss Willy's? She's never done that before. Buffy backtracks and looks around. Willy's bar should be right here. Everything looks different, draped in white. Buffy kicks at the snow, revealing the charred remains of a building. What the…

Buffy circles the area, digging through the snow.

Willy's bar has completely burned to the ground and been covered in a shallow layer of snow. When did this happen?

Something beyond the cold wind makes Buffy shiver. Things aren't right in Sunnydale. Buffy can't help but feel events have gotten away from her. She feels out of control. What was going on? Like Spike said a while ago, something was wrong here, and it's been creeping up on the creepy crawlies, too…

Buffy scowls as she leaves the scene, thwarted. No demons to shake down, no answers to be found. Where the heck was she gonna go for information, now?

Buffy drops down to the slick sewer floor. She nearly loses her footing, but grabs onto the ladder rungs until she regains her balance.

It's quiet down here, except for the dripping. Buffy zips her coat up as far as it will go and tugs her hat down more securely over her ears.

Stake in hand, Buffy prowls.

Once in a while, she can hear the skittering of rats and other larger things that scurry away from her approach.

All in all, it's a relatively dark and empty place. Where were all of Sunnydale's demons?

After some time, Buffy begins to recognize the tunnels she's traveling. This is the route she and Spike took when they carried that backwards-clawed beast to Giles'.

The thought of her Watcher makes Buffy's stomach tie up in knots. She can't remember the last time she's been so at odds with him. Usually, Giles has her back. But now…he's so against Spike, and really for no good reason that Buffy can see.

Spike's on Buffy's side now. He helps. Buffy thinks Spike might even like helping. When Spike does good things, it warms Buffy from her chest to her fingers and toes. It pleases her, when he tries and succeeds. It's like he's growing and changing and all for the better. Why can't Giles see that?

Or maybe, it's more like the chip has given Spike the opportunity to try out the white hat lifestyle and damn if he doesn't wear it pretty well.

Buffy isn't sure when her view on Spike shifted so radically. Certainly, by the time he helped save her mom. But not until after Adam…It must have been this summer. Seeing him around so much, and in a non-confrontational way. Getting to know him as an individual beyond _enemy_ or prisoner or pain-in-the-ass. Spike isn't just some bleached blonde menace, or a good fighter, a wickedly insightful asshole, or a strangely emotional vampire…

Spike is…good at cards, way too involved in daytime soaps, and he takes half hour showers. He's rude and sweet and helpful and in the way. He's got a great left hook and whiskey rumble storyteller's voice. Spike can look and act like a man and fight like a beast.

Buffy knows him. And to be honest, she's pretty fond of him. More than just another member of her team. More than a fellow soldier in the fight. More than an ally…Giles might be on to something—about what he means to Buffy.

It's _not_ like Angel though. With Angel, Buffy never knew what was going to happen next. Never knew when Angel would pop up-if he would be there to help or impart knowledge. If he'd accept a kiss or push her away. It was always up in the air, always a mystery. Spike is…reliable. Unpredictable, but reliable. Kind of like Buffy herself. She feels a kinship with Spike that she hasn't felt with anyone since she was called as the Slayer. It's a kinship that she's been looking for ever since being Chosen. Can Giles really blame her for seeking out someone like her, even if he happens to come with a set of fangs?

Well, maybe. But Spike can't hurt any humans. He's safe to…be around.

Buffy hears a low moaning echo through the cavernous sewers. The sound vibrates low in her ears, appearing to have no origin, ringing from every direction.

Tense, Buffy creeps around corners, checking for threats. She doesn't want to get boxed in down here.

Something snaps under her boot. Looking down, Buffy sees that she's crunched a horned skull to pieces. Buffy trades her stake for a dagger.

When she finds the source, Buffy freezes up. The moaning is coming from a wider section of the sewers. Buffy will have to walk right past it to continue on home. Buffy edges out into the open area.

Large dark and shapeless forms hunch together in a semicircle close to the right wall. They almost look like shadows, or gorillas. Gorilla shadows. But very boulder-like.

One creature shifts its mass around to stare at Buffy. Its eyes are dark, but for two pinpricks of yellow light where the irises should be. The thing's mouth moves in slow, stretching motions.

"Slayer. The Slayer has come." The voice drones, vibrating the air. Buffy covers her ears. The ringing is giving her a headache. A mountain of white bones are scattered all around the creatures. Buffy knows in her gut that she's found the Bolargs that Spike warned her about. Vultures of the Hellmouth. Buffy wracks her brain, trying to remember what her ally told her about the Bolargs. They didn't hurt people, right? They just…ate the dead.

Buffy squints through the muck and gloom.

The Bolargs have circled around one of their own, a dark and shapeless mass on the grimy floor. Buffy wonders if she's just interrupted the funeral rites.

Screw this.

"Are you the Bolargs?" Buffy asks clearly and confidently.

All movement stills from their side of the cavern. A stream from snow run-off trickles down the wall, the only sound.

One Bolarg rises on its hindquarters and gapes its mouth at her. The stench of decay reaches Buffy and she fights the urge to pinch her nose shut. "We are the Bolargs. Why have you come?"

"I'm hunting an invisible creature. Have you heard of a hairy monster that walks on two legs and stalks little girls?" Buffy's words take on an awkward almost-formality. She's not used to respectfully dealing with other demons. She hopes Spike hasn't led her astray in advising her to not attack these creatures.

The other Bolargs return their attention to the deceased member of their circle. Long bulky arms reach in and grope over the corpse which is spotted with light grey splotches. Right, demon plague.

The shadowy mass Buffy has been conversing with puts its massive paws on its head.

Has Giles ever covered Slayer-demon relations and reading their body language? Maybe he should have…

"Invisible ones. They lead the small humans away. Away to the forests. Away to the fog. They do not belong here."

Well, then.

"The invisible ones, where are they from?"

"Far away." The Bolarg waves its arm out in a slow sweeping gesture. "Does the Slayer hunt what she cannot see? She will never find the invisible ones. They are crafty and steal what is not theirs to take. Thieves…thieves…"

"Damn right it's a thief. It's trying to take my sister. I will find it and I will kill it. So, um…where can I find it?"

Tiny yellow eyes stare at her unblinking. "You cannot find them. Leave, Slayer. You do not belong here."

Buffy scowls. "I _am_ the Slayer. If anyone belongs here, I do."

The Bolarg ignores her and shifts around to partake in what the others have already begun. Buffy sees with a sudden sick lurch of her stomach that the Bolargs are eating their own dead.

"Don't you think you could be getting sick from eating a diseased corpse?" she asks, disgusted and disturbed. Spike spoke about the Bolargs as if they were a community. What kind of community would do this?

Monsters, of course.

She's summarily ignored in favor of the feast. Wet, crunching noises are her only answer.

Gross.

Buffy inches past the feeding. It isn't frenzied, quite the opposite. They eat with slow deliberation. Every Bolarg gets a bite.

On the edge of the group, Buffy sees a familiar figure. It's half-devoured now, but Buffy will never forget the look of those winged creatures that stole her mom.

It must be the one Buffy nearly decapitated in mid-air. Its head is completely missing, but the body is still mostly intact, including the bent and feathered wings. Buffy walks over to inspect it more closely.

Damn thing. She's taking it to Giles.

Buffy leans down and grabs ahold of the thing under its arms. A couple of the Bolargs stop their gorging and stare her down.

"You would take our meal, Slayer?"

"This is an enemy. This is my kill." Buffy states clearly. If they wanna fight for it, she'll be more than happy to give them hell. Creepy, cannibalistic bastards.

"The taste is strange. You may have the bird-creature."

"Gee, thanks," Buffy mutters under her breath. She drags the false angel away without any further disturbance.

"So all you need to do, Dawn, is wear this and you should be protected from dark influences." Tara hangs the charmed object around Dawn's neck.

Dawn picks up the large skeleton key, taken from her mom's collection of curios. Willow and Tara had deemed it worthy of bespelling and cast a strong protection over it. Xander then looped a purple laced ribbon through the key's handle to fashion it into a necklace. Dawn weighs the thing in her hand, dubious.

"So, Cousin It can't follow me around while I'm wearing this?"

Willow bites her lip. "Well, it can't come too close, or try to lure you away or anything. You're much safer with it on."

"Okay…"

Xander grins at her teasingly. "So, Dawnster, how's it feel getting all keyed up?"

Dawn rolls her eyes. "Pretty lame." Unbidden, Dawn's fingers stroke over the key's surface as if seeking reassurance.

Willow looks over with somewhat injured pride. "What! Dawn, it's a _mystical key_. That's like the coolest of the cool."

Anya looks down her nose at the necklace. "You couldn't have found anything smaller?" In response to the quelling glares, Anya adds, "What? It's bulky and conspicuous. If I were an outside force trying to harm her, I'd arrange for that protective piece to be destroyed, first thing—"

"Luckily, this Cousin It character doesn't sound like a vengeance demon." Xander cuts her off with a big laugh, glancing nervously over at Dawn who has gone pale. "So, you're all good!"

"Yeah," Dawn says, fist closing around the key. "All good, here."

The front door rattles loudly. Willow, closest to the door, squeaks in surprise and hurriedly backs away.

The door swings open, revealing a very grimy Slayer. Buffy stomps the snow off her boots and ventures a couple steps inside. "Giles!"

Giles walks briskly over. "Good lord, Buffy. What have you gotten into?"

Buffy screws her face up. "Sewers, don't ask. By the way, Willy's burned down."

"It _did?_ " Xander says with great surprise. Willy's was a Hellmouth fixture. Come hell, apocalypse, or high water-Willy's was there. Very shocking, to hear of its demise.

"Oh. Did you burn it?" Anya asks, with no agenda. "I hear you have pyromaniac tendencies."

It's difficult to tell under the flush of cold in Buffy's face, but it looks like she might be blushing. "I didn't do it! I found it that way."

"Oh."

Giles adjusts his glasses as he takes in Buffy's gloves, which are blackened with muck. "Is that blood of some kind?"

"Yep. You'll never guess what I found."

Giles looks up in alarm. "What is it? Where is it?"

Buffy grimaces. "Backyard. I don't want it in my house."

Giles pulls on his winter clothes and follows Buffy around to the back of the house. Tucked up against the bushes lining the porch, lies a headless angel.

"My word!" Giles exclaims. "Is that the creature that—that—"

"Stole my mom out of her bed? Yeah. It's one I killed. I found it in the sewers on my way home. And no," Buffy answers the question in her Watcher eyes. "I didn't find anything out about Dawn's stalker." Buffy frowns. "Except that it might not be from Sunnydale, originally."

Giles looks concerned. "Another transplant monster? Something must be drawing them here…" He crouches down next to the creature in the snow. Silvery blood paints the surface of the snow around its body. That's another weird thing. It's been so long since Buffy struck the killing blow, yet whatever blood is left in the thing's body, bleeds fresh.

"Very odd," Giles mutters. "I wonder if this creature _could_ be fae." _Like Spike suggested_ , went unspoken. Giles pokes and prods at the prone form. "I'd like to photograph this being." Giles states, at last.

"Go for it." Buffy says unenthusiastically.

Giles shakes his head. "Perhaps tomorrow, in the daylight. You wouldn't mind if I…?"

Normally, Giles wouldn't ask. Buffy feels the awkward tension still lingering between them. She's not going to be the one apologizing, here. Let Giles stew.

"That's fine." Buffy says instead. "Just come over early so I can get this thing off my property as soon as possible."

Long after everyone leaves and Dawn goes to bed, Buffy lingers on the first floor. She's made several circuits around the house already, drawing the curtains tightly shut and checking and rechecking the locks on the doors and windows.

Spike has their mom's house key, so Buffy doesn't need to wait up for him to come home. Still, Buffy hovers by the front door where he left, hours ago. She doesn't think Giles' ire or Dawn's neediness would scare him off, but he wouldn't be the first support system of Buffy's to buckle under the pressure.

Eventually, the grime and cold get to Buffy and she climbs the stairs to take a shower.

Buffy peels her chilly, wet clothes off her body and drops them in a heap by the bathroom door. Dirty water seeps away from the pile. Buffy sighs. Slayer problems. She'll worry about it in the morning, which…really wasn't that long from now. Buffy squints out the frosted glass window in the bathroom. The dark of night seems to be getting lighter. Was Spike even coming back?

Buffy shakes her head firmly. If he does, great. If not, who needs him? She cranks the water up as hot as it will go and steps under the stream. Buffy scrubs herself down with mechanic efficiency and then huddles in the steamy shower until she feels sufficiently warmed up.

Taking her time now, Buffy wraps herself in her terrycloth bathrobe and wrings the water out of her hair with her towel. She drops the wet towel on top of her dirty clothes, covering the mess.

Buffy is just starting to run a comb through her hair when the bathroom door swings open.

Buffy jumps and automatically grips her comb like a stake. Spike freezes in the doorway.

Heart pounding, Buffy gulps. "Holy shit, Spike. Don't you knock?" Spike's wide eyes run over Buffy's form. Very aware of her own bare legs, Buffy shuffles in place, adjusting the tie of her robe.

Spike's face bears the markings of a vicious fist fight. He looks like he's spent some time rolling around in the snow tonight. He ducks his head. "Didn't know you were in here. Wasn't paying attention."

Buffy steps closer and runs a finger along his bruised cheek. "Are you okay?"

Spike catches her hand and holds it away from his face. His eyes are wild. "Fine. You done in here?" His voice is tense and hoarse.

"Yeah," Buffy says shaking her head. "It's all yours."

Spike is still holding her wrist. Buffy gently pulls it out of his grip. Spike's hand flexes then grabs the door. His knuckles are white.

Buffy leans down and grabs up her stuff. As she passes Spike, she pauses. "Spike…"

There's so much she could say here. Sorry Giles won't give you an inch. Sorry to slander you in our argument. Sorry you had to hear that. Thanks for helping Dawn. Thanks for caring. But mostly…

"Thanks for coming back," Buffy whispers.

Spike's eyes calm and settle on hers. "Thought I was pullin' a runner, did you?"

Buffy shrugs and tries to look unaffected.

Spike stares at her intently. "Never happen," he says seriously. The familiar full body chill envelopes Buffy as another part of her Slayer dream unfolds in real life Technicolor.

 _Never happen. He is beautiful._ Spike's blue eyes hold hers. The moment feels tender and fragile.

Too close. Buffy backs away. "Well, I appreciate it. Night, Spike." Quickly, Buffy retreats to her room. Through the crack in her door, she sees Spike scrub both hands over his face and go still like that. Both hands covering his whole face, body hunched slightly, as if in grief. After a minute, he heaves a sigh and drags his shirt up over his head, turned away from the hallway. The sight of all that lean, bare flesh has Buffy's heart in her throat.

Buffy hurriedly shuts her bedroom door at the same time Spike closes the bathroom door.

Cheeks burning, Buffy crawls into bed.


	20. Chapter 20

Accursed Chapter 20

Spike sinks to his haunches in the shower stall, wraps his arms around his knees, and inhales deeply. The warm water heats his cold flesh and suffuses the air with rich aromas leftover from the Slayer's wash. Buffy's own mouthwatering scent, heady and fresh, surrounds him. Spike spends a long time letting it sink into his skin. Peppering Buffy's scent is the tang of sewers, the rank stench of Bolarg, and the slick demonic smell of those winged demons.

Spike frowns, breathing deeply. Yeah, his nose isn't wrong. Slayer seemed alright, though. Must have run across the missing corpse.

Tonight had not been great for Spike. Watcher's animosity seemed to be growing, which does not a healthy environment for a vampire, make. In addition, Dawn—cheeky, stubborn, plucky Dawn, apparently has been on the menu for some invisible beastie for quite some time. It makes Spike sick to think of Dawn's bright eyes dulling in death, or worse, of never seeing her again.

Overwhelmed by the onslaught of his own emotions, Spike ran for it. He ran straight into the midst of a demon gathering that led to a knock-down, drag out fight. Which, while appreciated, was also pretty painful.

Spike splashes water over his face and chest and arms. He slowly stands, to clean off properly.

What is happening to him? This is beyond crippled by the chip, beyond occupying himself with interesting distractions. This is family. This is vital. Buffy and Dawn are vital to him. It's terrifying. Spike's come around to the idea in theory, but in practice? Dawn, especially, is so fragile. She could rip like paper in the right hands—or claws. And there are many claws up for the challenge on a hellmouth.

Spike's old family—Angelus, Darla, Dru—they were strong, could take care of themselves. For most of his existence, they were stronger than Spike. Now, Spike's new crew consists of a teeny bopper human and the goddamned Slayer. One is useless and the other is his natural predator.

Spike shivers under the warm spray. What has he gotten himself into? The fight only temporarily distracted him from his concerns. Now, he is bloody and bruised and _still_ at a loss.

Spike can't help but care for Buffy and Dawn, but he is terrified that they will die and leave him heartbroken. Spike braces himself straight-armed against the shower wall.

Heartbroken. How fucking awful.

The image of Buffy's soft and concerned eyes floats before him. The way she touched his cheek.

Well, he's fucking screwed now, isn't he?

Buffy dreams of false angels bearing her mother up to a swirling portal of light. No matter how fast she chases after them, she can't catch up.

They vanish in a bright flash and her mother's body drops to the ground amidst strikes of white-hot lightning.

Buffy runs to her mom, but Dr. Isaacs is already there, taking her pulse. The doctor looks up at Buffy. "I'm sorry, but she's slipped into a coma. We'll contact you as soon as there's a change—"

Buffy sits straight up in her bed, blankets pooling at her waist. Her chest heaves with upset breaths and her mind is screaming.

Those winged creatures. Did something. To her mom.

Didn't feel like a Slayer dream, but what if, what if—

Buffy flings herself out of her bed and down the hall. She clatters down the stairs and out the back door to the bushes which conceal the false angel she dragged home.

Buffy grasps one half-eaten arm and pulls the thing out into her backyard. She glares down at the headless corpse as she feels a frustrated scream build up in the back of her throat.

" _What did you do?"_

Of course, the creature is silent. It's dead. Silvery blood sparkles like children's finger-paint across the snow and the thing's dark robes.

Buffy drops to her knees, heedless of the cold and wet seeping around her bare legs. The hem of her sleep shorts dampens immediately. Even in the chill morning air, the unnaturally weak California sun is melting the snow into mini lakes and rivers; Buffy is crouched on the edge of one such puddle.

She shakes its stiff body in fury.

"What did you do to her? Why won't she wake up! Arghh!" Buffy slams her fist against its chest in a staking motion. Something cracks. She hits it again. A louder snap.

"Buffy?" Dawn's spooked voice floats out to her from the kitchen door. Buffy barely hears her sister. Tears fill her eyes.

"Bring her back! Undo it!" Buffy punches the creature again and again until her hands are wet with silver and the corpse beneath her cracks in half. She can't see for the tears in her eyes. Moisture runs cold down her cheek.

Distantly, she hears Spike's voice overlapping with Dawn's.

Two dark boots crunch their way up to her, coming to a stop beside her. The air burns in Buffy's lungs as she gulps down breaths. She tips her head back to see who's come to stand by her.

It's Mark.

The middle aged man stares at the headless, pulverized creature in Buffy's yard without expression. His dark eyes turn to meet Buffy's.

She stares back in horror. Instinctive panic rears up in her. Half-formed excuses and explanations fly to her tongue before she remembers that this guy is in the know. Buffy's mouth drops open, but she is utterly speechless.

This is the first time she's seen Mark Kowitz in the daylight. His dark hair is streaked prematurely grey at the temples and through the top. Deep lines carve across his forehead and by his mouth. Worry lines. His shoulders are massive in his tan workman's coat. He's built like a lumberjack.

A car door slams across the street and Buffy hears a mom teasing her little girl. Their voices grow louder as they seem to be going from vehicle to house. The frozen moment breaks.

"What are you doing here?" Buffy snaps, lips pulling back defensively to show him her teeth.

Mark raises both eyebrows. "What are you _doing_?"

Such a good question. Buffy scrabbles her hands over the broken creature like she can rearrange it into something more respectable to have on her property, like a sled or a flowerbed.

Mark starts shaking his head. "Is this what's been bothering you?"

Buffy pauses, then kicks the thing back under the bushes. It takes a few kicks. It isn't in one piece anymore. Bile rises to the back of her throat. Buffy turns away and marches, barefoot, up the stairs of her porch.

Mark follows. "Why aren't you ever wearing shoes when I see you, huh?" He reaches for the doorknob before Buffy can. "Here, let me."

Buffy stiffens in affront before she realizes her hands are slick with the false angel's blood. If she touched the door or anything in the house before she washed her hands, Mom would—

Mom would nothing.

Buffy's hands clench into fists and she sweeps into the house through the door Mark holds open for her.

Totally without invite, the older man follows her in.

Hovering anxiously in the kitchen, are Spike and Dawn. Spike's eyes snap to the unfamiliar human in the room.

"Who the hell are you?"

Mark frowns over at him. "Gave you a lift home, once. You look a damn sight better today than you did then."

Spike's eyebrows scrunch together and he looks to Buffy for a cue. Buffy shakes her head at him wordlessly. His blue eyes thaw as they drop to her hands. Spike approaches her, putting himself between her and Mark in a way Buffy thinks seems very intentional. The move warms her even as it irritates her. Then Spike's hands are cradling her own as he lifts them for inspection.

"Ah, love. Gonna need to clean these and bandage them. Cut up your knuckles something fierce."

She did? Buffy lets her eyes take in her somewhat mangled hands. Oh.

Spike tips his chin at Dawn. "Grab the first-aid kit, Bit?" Dawn must agree, because Buffy hears her sister's light steps leave the kitchen. The air thickens with tension. Spike leads Buffy to the sink and helps her clean her hands of the blood.

Buffy's not some kid who needs an adult to wash her hands for her, but Spike doesn't make her feel that way. She gratefully stares out the sun-bright kitchen window while he fixes her hands with sure and gentle movements.

Mark takes a seat at the counter and waits them out.

Buffy's stomach sinks. She doesn't want to chat. To him, or anyone, about anything that just happened. She shifts on her feet, restless. One of Spike's hands trail up to squeeze her wrist reassuringly.

Buffy's shoulders relax, a little.

Buffy and Spike finish up at the sink and join Mark at the counter. Dawn hands off the kit, and with some magical communication using only their eyes and facial expressions, Spike somehow sends her away again.

While Spike starts wrapping her hands, Buffy addresses Mark in a flat tone. "Why are you at my house?"

Mark slowly rubs his hands together in place of conversation as he seemed to consider his words. "Wanted to make sure you were ok," he says at last. "Would've come by sooner, but some other things came up."

"Like finding a new sitter?" Buffy mutters. Marks expression falls heavy and disapproving. Buffy feels a stab of guilt. "Sorry. Not a having a good morning. And I wasn't expecting company." She adds pointedly.

Mark leans forward slightly. "Never saw a human with wings before."

"It wasn't human."

Spike quirks his scarred eyebrow at Buffy. She grits her teeth. "He knows, Spike."

Spike huffs in disbelief. "Knows what, exactly?"

"About vampires… _in general_. Bad stuff in Sunnydale." _Not about you. Not about me._ That part remains unsaid.

"And he knows?" Mark asks of Spike.

"Most people you'll ever find in this house know." Buffy answers dryly. Spike finishes bandaging her knuckles, but doesn't release her hands. Buffy is focused on Mark.

"Look, I appreciate you giving us a ride home and all, but we don't need you butting in, here."

Mark's face twists in an ironic smile. "Right, because you had things handled out there just now."

Buffy stiffens. "That thing is dead, because I killed it already. There was nothing to handle."

"Where's your mama?"

"My _mom_ isn't home right now. You should go."

"Look," Mark sighs. "You're not the only one in this town trying to handle a strange, scary problem on your own. It's amazing that you killed a monster giving you trouble, but now what are you gonna do? Police and government aren't worth a shit here. Fact is, you gotta rely on neighbors and friends in these situations."

Buffy feels her face slacken in surprise.

Mark continues on, as if sensing Buffy might budge. "Don't know what kind of history you have bringing this stuff to the police, if any, but I can tell you from personal experience that it's useless. Tried it myself a few years back; almost seemed like our boys in blue were out helping those things in the shadows more than the victims. Not to scare you," Mark says, holding out his hands, "but better warned than surprised. That's been my motto since moving to this godforsaken town."

"Corrupt government," Spike offers in lieu of further conversation. The other two look at him. He shrugs. "S'what I heard. Sunnydale was a demon-safe zone for so long because the establishment knew, but looked the other way."

"Go figure." Mark mutters bitterly, face dark, at the same time Buffy growls,

"The Mayor!"

They eye each other dubiously. Obviously, lots of stories to go around. Buffy doesn't wanna do a share and care, though. She sets her shoulders.

"I moved here, too. And for good reason. I'm here to fight the things in the dark. Vampires and demons and everything in between."

Mark sits back. "You _fight_ these things?"

"Yep." Buffy pops the 'p.' "So, I'm totally good. No one is safer than me. I'm built to fight monsters."

Mark's eyes widen as he takes in Buffy's slender form. "Uh huh."

Spike snorts. "You can accept vampires and beasties and government conspiracies, but you can't accept the world would spit out their natural predator? She's perfect. She looks like prey," Spike runs a hand down the air inches from Buffy's body, "—small and blonde and perky, OW!" Spike grimaces from Buffy's sharp kick to his shin. "Shit!" he mutters, shaking his leg out. "So you're caught off guard when she packs a wallop."

"I just don't see how…"

Buffy gets up and goes to the living room. Spike shrugs at Mark and motions to follow her. Mark does, feeling unease tingle up his spine as Spike brings up the rear.

In the living room, Buffy pulls the couch out to the middle of the room. She picks it up easily from one end.

Mark blinks.

Buffy props the couch on her hip and balances it with one hand and uses the other to gesture at the display. _Ta da._

Mark plops into the armchair like his knees were cut out from under him.

Upstairs, Dawn hears her sister, Spike, and the stranger break into a heated discussion.

"…superhero?"

"…Chosen…darkness…it's a whole thing."

"…if I'd known…just a kid!"

Spike's abrasive laughter.

She doesn't bother eavesdropping any further. Sounds like the usual 'Hey, I'm the Slayer' spiel anyway. There's something else she wants to see more.

Dawn creeps over to Buffy's room, then shimmies out the window and down the tree, hands slipping on the icy branches. She lands in with a soft poof in a pile of loose snow.

Dawn winds around to the backyard to take a closer look at the thing that kidnapped their mom. The thing Buffy had a meltdown over and beat to a yucky pulp.

She wrinkles her nose at it, not wanting to touch it, but wanting to see it better than the bushes allowed. Dawn gingerly grabs the edge of the robes and pulls. It comes out easier than expected.

Dawn sees that she's pulled out a severed arm. "Ugh!" She drops it and quickly wipes her hands in the snow then on her pants.

The blood is silver, not red. Dawn stares in fascination as it pools out from the shoulder socket.

This is where Giles finds her, maybe fifteen minutes later.

"Dawn?"

Dawn jumps. "Oh! Giles, you scared me."

Giles shuffles over and grimaces down at the mess of a corpse. "What on earth…? What happened?"

"Buffy happened. She got mad." Dawn says solemnly. She stares back down at the feathered pile. _Why won't she wake up?_ That's what Buffy had said as she hit this thing.

"Giles?" Dawn asks, voice very young. She clears her throat and tries to sound like a mature young woman. "Do you think Mom could be in a coma because of this thing kidnapping her?"

Giles raises his eyebrow and strokes his chin. "Perhaps. It's more likely, however, that your mother slipped into a coma due to her medical condition. Though…unfortunate, Joyce's condition isn't exactly bizarre in the…supernatural sense."

Dawn wants to get mad at Giles' bookish explanation about her mom not being able to come home or hug Dawn or scold Buffy or take candlelit baths every Friday night…but she sees a grown up kind of sorrow in Giles' face.

She thinks he liked their mom, too. _Likes_ their mom _._ Dawn hunches her shoulders.

With a heavy sigh, Giles turns his attention on Dawn again. "Why is it that you're out here alone?" Disapproval radiates off of him. "Especially in light of certain events? Where are Buffy and Spike?"

Dawn scuffs her foot in the snow. "Inside talking to that Mark guy."

Giles frown in confusion. "Who?"

They reenter the house together.

In the living room, Buffy is hugging herself. Spike looks up from where he's leaning against the wall. Giles recognizes the older man next to Buffy as the one who gave them a ride home the night of Joyce's kidnapping.

"…I'd really appreciate it." Buffy is saying as Dawn shuts the front door, catching her attention. Buffy frowns. "Dawn? When did you leave the house?"

Dawn ducks her head, guilty. Her sister's eyes go laser beam angry and Dawn just knows she's in for a lecture later.

Giles shakes Mark's hand. "Rupert Giles."

"Mark Kowitz."

Giles stares at him shrewdly. "You know."

Mark huffs a laugh. "You weren't kidding, were you?" he asks Buffy. One corner of Buffy's mouth lifts.

"Giles is like my mentor. Giles," Buffy looks over at her watcher. "Mark's family was attacked by vampires a few years back. He knows stuff about stuff. He's offered to sit with Mom at the hospital and have his son practice reading to her. You know…keep an eye on her. Just in case."

Mark shakes his head, looking dazed. "There's this whole secret world fighting against these monsters I never knew about. Slayers!" He rubs a hand down his face and glares at Giles sternly. "Start these girls pretty young, don't you."

Giles sputters. "I have nothing to do with the process. A Slayer's calling is a mystical…ah. How well do you know this man, Buffy?"

Buffy shrugs. "Not very. Got good vibes, though."

Giles rubs his forehead. "Dear, Lord. Perhaps I ought to sit in on the first visit to Joyce." He stares coolly back at Mark, who nods in understanding.

"Don't mind that."

Mark takes his leave, soon after.

Giles shakes his head. "Buffy, honestly. A little caution—"

"I need to ask you a favor," Buffy interrupts. She looks up at Giles, eyes soft and hard in a way that makes Giles' chest hurt. "Spike knows a place near Miller's woods where a whole bunch of demons are gonna be…demon-ing tonight. We both wanna go patrol to blow off some steam." At Giles' look, she quickly adds, "Slayer duty." Giles switches gaze to Spike, who shrugs.

"Backup. There's quite a few that have congregated."

Giles rests a closed fist in the small of his back as he paces slowly to the kitchen. Buffy and Spike trail in after him. Giles stares through the backdoor, thinking about the severely damaged corpse that, several hours ago, was in much better condition. He turns his gaze to Buffy's bandaged hands.

"You want me to stay with Dawn tonight." Giles says softly.

Hearing the agreement in her watcher's tone, Buffy smiles wanly. "I promise to try and talk her out of cookies and boy gossip."

Dread fills Giles.

When night falls, Spike leads Buffy to the woods where he claims a slew of demons were just ripe for the slaying.

Buffy smiles fondly at her ally's back as she follows him, remembering Spike's words to her earlier-the only thing he said about her crazy beating spree in the backyard.

 _I know what you need._

He'd then told her about the night's brawling potential.

Spike just gets her.

Anticipation fills Buffy as the woods appear in the distance. A good, clean slay. Nothing would make her happier.

She can hear the rumble of a dozen or more demons growling close by. A grin tugs at Buffy's mouth and she feels her spirits already begin to lift.

Spike tips his head to the side, gauging her mood. "Race you," he hisses, eyes glittering.

The wind catches Buffy's laughter from her lips and carries it away as they charge forward.

All the stress rushes from her or maybe it converts into fierce battle-joy. Either way, Buffy feels free, happy, and in-control in the best, most out-of-control way possible.

She slays.

She and Spike move around each other perfectly in synch. He's grinning like a maniac and clearly enjoying every hit he lands, throwing his whole body into the fray. His delight lifts her up, pushing the intensity of the fight higher and higher. Buffy realizes with a thrill of excitement that she's having a blast. It feels like a revelation, fighting like this. Like equals. Like two halves of a whole. It's amazing, absolutely incredible.

Spike crashes to the ground, pinned by two at once. Buffy falters for a moment, but he's already levering the first's arm to slam its shoulder joint into the throat of the second. He gains enough ground back to get to his feet and fight on.

That was so creative. He'd probably just made the move up on the spot. One of Spike's greatest strengths as a fighter is his adaptability. Not to mention how he handles a group assault. Buffy constantly learns from watching him fight.

When the last one goes down they face each breathing hard and grinning big.

"Saw you get pinned" she teases.

"Had it under control," he brags.

"Oh," Buffy laughs breathlessly. "I suppose you meant to eat dirt."

"Yeah, well live and learn and fight another sodding day, alright? Won't go down twice the same way." Spike smirks as he brushes his coat off half-turning from her.

Buffy tackles him. Not paying attention, Spike shouts as they both tumble down then down, down, down a slope in the forest floor.

Adrenaline is running high through Buffy. She shrieks with laughter as the world spins over and over. Leaves, bleached hair, sticks and brush, leather coat rush around her vision as they roll, half-holding onto each other.

They slam into the flattened out ground, Buffy beneath Spike. He holds her upper arms down and gasps, "Crazy bitch!" down at her with laughing blue eyes and a maniac grin. Almost predatory or proprietary.

Nuh uh.

Buffy catches his sides tight with the insides of her knees and thighs and flips them so she's on top.

Adrenaline is like a live wire between them making her hands shake and his body tremble. He laughs in her face at her dominate move and props himself up on his elbows.

Buffy relaxes her straddle just enough to rest in the partial cradle of his bent body, flush with his hips, hands on his chest.

Spike's eyes flare with awareness and his panting picks up again. Passionate. He sits up abruptly and pulls her closer at the same time Buffy instinctively grinds against him and leans in to meet his kiss.

Oh, oh. Oh. Good, so good. Still in synch, hell yeah, still fighting. Clutching closer and coming together and breaking away, only to come right back together again. Buffy is gulping air in between kisses and they rub together as they also lower to the ground. Half-inclined against the slope, Spike breaks suddenly away, leaning too far back to easily follow.

They stare at each other in shock.

Buffy can feel her own face burn red, equal parts alarmed and aroused. The picture he makes, laying beneath her, sears into her brain.

And the way he looks back at her…

"Shit," he says. Spike's eyes are wide and dark. Then huskier, amorous. "Oh shit, Slayer. Oh god, yeah…" He tries to lean in again.

But it's too late. Buffy's more rational brain has already kicked back on.

Oh no. No, no, nonono. Pretty to look at, but bad to touch. So much badness. And just what happens after they touch? Nothing good. Hasn't she already had this pep talk? Multiple times? Obviously, it didn't stick…

She clumsily stands and backs up.

"We can't do this."

His eyes track her movement. "Can't, is it?" He stands fluidly. "Why the hell not? That was a bloody revelation! Don't tell me you weren't there with me. Slayer, I felt you." Spike's eyes are awed.

Buffy had been there with him. She'd felt him too, more deeply than she's felt anything like that in so long. That was cause for major alarm in her book. Buffy lifts her chin, soldiering on.

"It doesn't matter. This. Cannot. Happen." Buffy's words are ironclad, but her eyes betray her. They invite him in even as she pushes him away.

Spike is torn between softening in hurt confusion and hardening to aggressively pursue. The man and the demon. Every bit of him wants her. He wonders how long this has been in him. A revelation indeed. Like someone picked his world up and shook it hard until all the pieces fell into place, different than before, but with beautiful insistent clarity.

He wants her.

He's always wanted her, in some way. It wasn't until just now that Spike realizes he wants every bit of her for every bit of him. Like meeting like.

Spike doesn't know what expression he's wearing but Buffy's face grows vulnerable, then fearful when she sees it.

And then she's gone.


	21. Chapter 21

Standard Disclaimer. I own nothing but my zany plots. Thanks for the wait, guys. I kind of fell off the map and when I came back had been copy and pasted onto some other ad filled site so that annoyed me into not posting for a while. But hey. Three chappies all at once. The first place I post is Elysian Fields (Spike/Buffy site and a great, friendly place) if you want instant updates. I'll try to update here faster too.

* * *

Spike rounds the corner to Revello Drive, right on Buffy's tail. Easy enough. Giving chase to the Slayer is in his blood. Of course, his blood got a bit confused back there. Took awhile to regain composure. Long enough for Buffy to get a damn good head start anyway.

Spike pauses at the end of the sidewalk. Ahead, Buffy has her face in her hands. She's just standing on the front porch, not doing anything. Something trips her senses and she looks over to him.

Spike waits, stomach tightening, for her verdict. Buffy's cheeks are pale, her brow strained. She turns her back to him and goes through the door.

"Slayer!" Spike calls in exasperation. What, she was just going to ignore him? Ignore all that, that truly delicious heat they'd just generated? He starts after her, only to nearly lose his nose when she shuts the door in his face.

Spike can hear the murmur of voices inside. It's Giles, who has taken the couch for the night and Buffy, giving report.

Sod that. Spike wants Giles far away before this confrontation happens.

He backs up until he can see their shadows moving against the lamp lit curtain. Both shadows step away. The click of the locking door sounds abnormally loud from where Spike stands.

The quiet night settles around him. Even though no more voices can be heard, the echo of long-ago laughter rings in Spike's ears. He grits his teeth.

Spike isn't an idiot. He knew this day would come, he just didn't know it would happen like this. Cursing his luck, Spike makes for the back door.

Kick him out? Fine. But he wasn't going back to his crypt without his things.

* * *

Buffy enters the kitchen the next morning with great trepidation. She tries to act casual around Dawn when in reality, all she can think about is Spike, down in the basement. Kissing him, running off, shutting the door in his face? Okay, not the smoothest, but she'd panicked. Seriously, talk about bad idea. What even happened there?

Buffy wishes she could just rewind to before the epic makeout session. How was she supposed to look Spike in the eye now? What if he tries talking about it in front of everyone?

What if he wants to do it again?

Buffy licks her lips. Dawn frowns at her. "You're all spacey. Maybe we should see Mom later."

Dawn's never missed a visit to the hospital, but Buffy knows it bothers her to see Mom, the Coma Patient. It bothers Buffy too. At least today, Giles was going with. They were gonna meet Mark and his boy, Carson, there.

Buffy shakes her head. "No, nope. I'm good. I'm uh, gonna see if Spike wants to go."

"Kay."

Buffy grabs the doorknob and holds it so tightly she feels the metal warp under her hand. _Snap out of it, he'll hear your heart._ Buffy breathes evenly, forcing calm. She goes down.

"Spike?"

Something's wrong. The cot is bare, stripped of all its bedding. Spike's nowhere to be seen. Belongings like the ashtray, old vinyl records, and the dusty black duffel bag are conspicuously absent.

Buffy's first thought is of Willow, opening Oz's door and finding the room empty. Gone for good.

Her next thought is that her first thought is completely ridiculous for her to be thinking about. Not related at all. Buffy's rubs her aching stomach.

"Buffy? Giles is ready. Is Spike coming?"

"No, he's not," Buffy calls back. Her voice crack a little. Dawn pokes her head through the door.

"Spike, please come with us-" Dawn stops when she sees Buffy standing alone. "Where is he?"

"Not here."

"Oh...didn't he come home with you after patrol?" Dawn asks. Spike's part of the household, part of Dawn's life. She liked Spike before. Now, to Dawn, he's family. Dawn doesn't have a lot of family to spare these days.

Buffy climbs up to her sister. "Let's go, Dawnie. Spike's fine. He must have left after we came home last night."

Dawn hunches her shoulders. "That's not like him. He's supposed to stay here during the day with m-us. That's why he moved in."

Buffy avoids her sister's gaze. Dawn grabs Buffy's arm, pulling them aside where Giles wouldn't hear them.  
"Did you guys fight or something?"

Dawn! Nosey, stinking, observant sister. "Duh, dingbat. We always fight demons."

Dawn rolls her eyes. "I meant did you guys have a fight? You're acting weird."

Buffy shrugs. "I guess so. Maybe. Look, forget about Spike. He'll show up again; he always does."

Giles waves at them from the car. Buffy waves back. "Ready?"

Dawn tucks in closer to Buffy's side and doesn't answer. Which really, is answer enough.

* * *

As usual, the hospital is awful. Joyce spends all her time now lying in a bed, letting machines breathe and eat and go to the bathroom for her. Most of the really invasive and embarrassing stuff is cleverly hidden, but still.

Dawn can't look at her mom for too long. She can't help but think that her mom would freak if she knew what the hospital people dressed her in, how they left her hair. Is there any point to curling someone's hair when they're in a coma? Probably not. But her mom looks even sicker with flattened bed hair.

Dawn likes to imagine her mom waking up, grabbing a bag full of toiletries and hurling things at the staff like a movie heroine who discovered a peeping tom in her bathroom. Dawn's lips tug up as she watches a birdish woman-a nurse?-leave in a flutter of scrubs after checking her mom's vitals.

Flap, flap away, little birdie.

Dawn's resettles in her chair and watches some nine year old boy slowly sounding out words from a slim book. Giles and Mark and Buffy are in the hallway, talking.

Carson, Mark's son, reads with slow, stilting pronunciation: " _...this was what they called the witching hour."_

Dawn tilts her head to see the book title. Nice kid, nice dad-whatever. If that turns out to be some kind of spellbook-

 _The BFG_. By Roald Dahl. Huh. Didn't he write _Matilda,_ too? Anyway, just some fantasy kid's book. No big. Dawn relaxes until her eyes skip over to her mom's slack expression. Quickly, she refocuses on the little blond boy swamped in a large visitors chair that matches Dawn's.

Carson continues with a child's high clear tones. _"The witching hour, somebody had once whispered to her, was a special moment in the middle of the night when every child and every grown-up was in a deep deep sleep, and all the dark things came out from hiding and had the world to themselves."_

Apparently, this kid never talks. He's something called a selective mute. He can talk, but usually doesn't. Which is why Carson reading out loud to Mom is supposed to be way good for both of them.

It's kind of a weird sitch, but Dawn much prefers listening to Carson's solemn reading than trying to make awkward one-sided conversation with her mom.

Dawn glances around the room. Just an ordinary morning here in ICU. Here with Dawn, a fake mini-mute, her coma mom, and…

She cuts her eyes over to Mom's creepy bedridden roommate. A wrinkly old lady stares back from sunken eye sockets, chin resting on her frail chest.

Patricia.

The nurses tell them that Patricia has dementia and is essentially a Jane Doe. She claims to be twenty-five, but obviously she's super old.

Patricia-who's-not-twenty-five keeps her glassy open eyes on Dawn. Dawn shrinks back.

" _There was something coming up the street on the opposite side…"_

Patricia raises one gnarled finger and points it at Dawn. Dawn glances down to her bespelled protection key. Dawn's quick to stuff the necklace down the front of her shirt where it presses against her heart. She gives the crazy lady a warning look.

" _Something very tall and very black and very thin…"_

The gnarled finger changes direction and points skyward. A twist of the wrist reveals a slanty 'H' tattooed on the back of the shriveled old hand. Patricia hasn't blinked yet. Dawn's getting vibes of the not good variety. She shoots Carson a look, but he reads like each word is a stone he has to drag to the top of a cliff. Way too focused to notice the badness in the room.

" _It wasn't human. It couldn't be."_

Patricia opens her mouth, showing Dawn her toothless gums.

Straight-backed as a meerkat on the desert plain, Dawn perches on the edge of her chair. A creepy old lady is no reason to run. No reason. None.

" _Her throat, like her whole body, was frozen with fright."_

Miss Not-So-Bedridden drags the sheets off her withered legs. Patricia leans to the side, still watching Dawn intently over her shoulder, and rolls as if in slow motion off the far edge of the bed and out of sight with a heavy _clump_.

Dawn stands without realizing it, mouth open but soundless. She's not gonna leave Carson or her mom in here alone-

" _This was the witching hour all right."_

"How's it going in here?" Mark asks, entering the room and making Dawn jump. "Did Sophie meet the Big Friendly Giant yet?"

"Dawn?" Buffy and Giles stare at her with concern. Dawn points over at Patricia's empty bed.

"She-she fell…" Dawn whispers. Mark frowns and skirts around Patricia's bed by the window. He tenses and flashes a look over to Giles and Buffy.

"Carson. Buddy."

The boy looks up. His greyish blue eyes round when he sees the empty bed. Mark returns to Carson's side. He picks him up and takes him, book and all, out of the room. Giles rings for the nurse. Buffy pulls Dawn out into the hallway.

"What is it?" Dawn asks, sort of afraid to know.

"That woman is dead, Dawn." Giles keeps his voice low when he appears at Dawn's elbow. "Before they declare a cause, did you see how she fell?"

Dawn shakes her head. "She's dead?" Buffy and Giles stare at her silent and unhelpful. "She just...Giles it was so weird. She was staring and staring and then she rolled right off. On purpose! Buffy," Dawn implores her sister. "I didn't know what to do. It happened so fast. And I mean, it was kind of weird, but not like, woah, she has fangs weird-"

Buffy wraps Dawn in a hug, which effectively shuts up her somewhat hysterical babbling. Medical staff rush in and an alarm rings.

As Buffy and her Watcher lead Dawn past the room, Dawn hears a first responder say, "Jesus, her neck's broken."

Dawn cranes her head to catch one last glimpse inside. Tears spring to Dawn's eyes. A bunch of hospital staff swarm around Patricia's bed and body. Dawn can't see the dead old woman, but she can see the rest of the people in the room acting like they're the only ones in there. Like Mom is just a vase of flowers or something in the other bed. Just a part of the room. Someone's stethoscope is draped over Joyce's shins. Dawn chokes back a sob and turns her face into Buffy's shoulder as they move away.

At the end of the hall, there's a waiting area with couches and coffee and magazines and toys. Carson sits quietly, holding a toy dinosaur. He doesn't play. Just watches those around him and holds on tight. Dawn fans herself with a magazine. She feels hot all over.

Buffy plops down next to her and slings an arm over Dawn's shoulder, squeezing a little. A non-Slayerly punch to the arm would've been more familiar.

Nothing is familiar. Dawn sniffles and Mark hands over some tissues.

Giles finishes up with the hospital administrator. He returns, leaning a hip against an easychair with a sigh. He rubs his forehead. "They've ruled out foul play and have recorded the-" Giles hesitates with a glance to Carson. "-cause as accidental. Dawn won't be needed for any further questioning."

Mark shakes his head. "It was such a short fall. Must have had some fragile bones." He ruffles his son's hair. "Bad luck," Mark murmurs.

"No such thing on a hellmouth," Giles mutters. His brow creases.

Carson stands the dinosaur on his leg and lets go. The orange plastic beast balances proudly for a couple seconds on the boy's knee before it falls to the floor.

Dawn makes a weird noise in her throat, like a strangled laugh. No one mentions it. Really, not funny.

Giles addresses Buffy. "I'm sorry to say, my dear, but I think your visit will be cut short today."

Buffy grimaces. "Yeah, no kidding. Is Mom okay in there?"

Giles nods. "Yes. I've already inquired on her behalf. Everything's been...taken care of…" Giles trails off, eyes fixed on some point across the hall. Buffy follows his gaze.

Room 313. E. Rayne.

"What is it?" Mark asks. Giles sways in place, face white, then charges forward. Buffy's hot on heels. They push into the room together.

In a single bed, one unconscious grey-haired man lies still, wrinkled and withered and breathing harshly. Giles, trembling, creeps closer for a better look.

Behind a breathing mask and almost unrecognizably aged, is Ethan Rayne.

Spike stomps through the underground slush, bottle of Jack swinging in his hand. The sewers are giving him a hard time. Or maybe the alcohol is. He keeps getting lost. "Goddammit," Spike swears when he slips for a third time. Winter in Cali. Not what he signed up for. "Not what I signed up for!" Spike shouts, his voice echoing off the tunnel walls. "Bloody women!"

Glass chimes discordantly as he smashes the bottle. "Like sodding windchimes," Spike slurs. He staggers on.

He _liked_ the house on Revello. He likedthe basement and he likedthe ladies who lived up the stairs.

Screw him and call him Sally if he didn't like the bleeding Slayer, too. "I didn't ask for this," Spike's voice rings out, a mite pathetically. He clears his throat. "I didn't ask for this," he tries again, commanding and derisive. Then softer. "I didn't ask for this either, pet, but here it is between us. And god, if we don't burn…"

Pain explodes behind his eyes. For a second, Spike thinks he set off his chip somehow. He blearily rubs his face and smears blood all over his hand. Bloody nose.

Spike squints through the gloom. A perky brunette in a summery dress stands right in front of him.

He must have hit her. With his face. Which bloodied his nose. How did-wait, shit. Did she hear him just now?

Perky cocks her little head like a curious dog. Not a scratch on her.

"Heh? You okay?" Spike asks, not really concerned about her welfare. More curious how she ended up the one unharmed.

"No," the girl says. Even though she's frowning, her tone is cheery and wholesome.

Spike's eyes drag down her body. No coat. Chit's just like Buffy, always runnin' round without proper gear. He blinks sluggishly.

The girl is standing there, bare legs calf-deep in sewer slush without so much as a whimper of complaint.

In a dress like that? Even Dru would be puttin' up a fuss. "How'd you end up down here?"

Perky wrinkles her nose. "I was looking for my boyfriend. But then I found him." Her voice changes to something far more menacing. "Warren cheated on me."

For the first time, Spike notices that some of the red in Perky's dress doesn't match the other floral patterns.

"Oh. Uh...sorry to hear that."

"I'm sorry too." The girl's eyes blink heavily like she wants to cry. She doesn't. "So was Warren. He said so. But I wasn't sure who he was talking to. He told me he was sorry. He told all of us he was sorry."

Spike is wishing he could be a lot more sober for this conversation. "All of who?"

Perky sobs and smiles blindingly in the next second. "His. Girlfriends!"

Spike puts his hands up. "Tha's rough, love. Look, I'm sure you can do a lot better-" He chokes when Perky closes an iron hand around his throat. She bares her teeth at him in a terrifying pageant smile. "I'm not your love. I'm Warren's love."

And with that, Perky hurls Spike across the tunnel into the opposite wall with bone cracking force.

Perky drops her chin, staring at her hands and ignoring Spike's hoarse coughing behind her. "I was Warren's love. I am Warren's love. But Warren's gone. So now what do I do?"

She stands with unnatural stillness while Spike gets his voice back under control. "What are you?" he gasps.

Perky executes a perfect about face. "I'm Warren's girlfriend. My name is April. Warren and I are made for each other."

Spike inhales painfully. He scents machinery. A robot? Really. A girlfriend robot.

Fucking Hellmouth.

"Right, then. Say, this Warren. He wouldn't be a robot, would he?"

April shakes her head. Once to the left and once to the right. "No, silly! He's a human, like me!"

"...human like you. Sure he's got all the parts?"

"Yes, Warren has all the human parts. He has a big heart and a bigger brain and the biggest-"

"Positive on that, are you?"

"Yes," April says, still smiling. "I saw his heart and brain myself. We all did."

Spike decides he's too drunk to handle this situation. "Fantastic. Good for you. I'll be shoving off now."

"Shoving is inappropriate behavior," April says. "Especially in a girlfriend. But, I guess you must be someone's boyfriend. Sometimes it's okay for you to shove. Sometimes you have to. You're the man. You have a lot of strength you need to use. I'm sure your girlfriend can help you with that."

"Everyone in this bleedin' town needs intensive therapy," Spike mutters to himself. "Listen Perky, don't let anyone shove you around unless you like that kind of thing. End of story."

Spike staggers upright and keeps going down the tunnel. After a few minutes, he realizes April the Robot is following him.

"Where are you going?" Spike rasps suspiciously.

"I don't know." April walks through the muck with purpose. "Warren is gone. But I'm supposed to be with Warren. Where do you go when the person you were made for is no longer around?"

Spike stops in his tracks. April stops with him.

"You go wherever the hell you want to and do as you please. Find another purpose for yourself, that's what you do." Spike gears up to the subject, eyes earnest. "There's more to you than what you were made for, you know. You're not anyone's dog or-or sex toy! S'not like they even knew what they were doing when they made you-come on! Crazy!"

April opens her mouth, but politely waits for Spike to finish. Her mouth stays open as he continues:

"You've gotta have...have self-respect. So screw 'em! Do your own bloody thing." Spike waves his arms around, drunkenly dramatic. "I mean, what, you're supposed to just wait for them to pick you back up and make your existence mean something again? You don't owe 'em anything. Just go and do whatever or _whoever_ you like." Spike pauses to gulp an unneeded breath. "Wherever you like!"

He stomps away then spins around. "And there's no reason to feel out of sorts about it either. You're _you_ and there's plenty to offer there,and anyway you're a free agent now. The world's yours for the taking! Find someone else if you want to. Gotta snatch up the good life, you gotta take that chance...you...argh..." Spike storms off again, muttering, and this time April stays behind.

"You find another purpose for yourself," April repeats, effecting a British accent. "But what else is there besides Warren?" April sits heavily in the slush. "Boy, it sure is dark in here. Don't worry. The night's always darkest before the dawn. There's always tomorrow. Tomorrow," the accent returns. "You find another purpose for yourself...only...a day...away." April's head sags against her chest, eyes open and blank.

Above ground, Xander and Anya are eating lunch at a little place downtown, not far from the Magic Box.

Around the corner, in the cafe alley, is the cooling corpse of Warren Mears. He lies face-down in the red-splattered snow, surrounded by dozens of severed mechanical hands and a single peacock feather.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: same as first chap. I forget to add line breaks and such. Sorry for poor formatting. Let me know if anything is really off. Thanks for reading.

* * *

"Old is such a relative term," Anya says. They are sitting around the table at the Magic Box. No customers around on such a cold evening anyway.

"No," Buffy shakes her head. "Ethan wasn't Giles-old. I'm saying he looked ancient. Like, at least ninety."

Xander whistles. "Well, at least we found the guy. Who'da thunk to look in hospital?"

Buffy presses her knuckles to her eyes. "It's not good though. He's so out of it. All Ethan did while we tried to talk to him was fall asleep or mumble nonsense." Buffy pouts. "I can't even beat him up for information now. It would be ooky."

Willow shivers next to Buffy. "Sounds like he got caught up in his own spell this time."

"Yeah. I think Giles is majorly wigged to see Ethan like that."

"Is Giles still there?"

Buffy nods. "He wanted to keep questioning him and told me to go." Buffy glances over to check on her sister. Dawn's sitting by the shop window, staring out at the snowy road. "I think he needed some space."

"Well, I say good riddance," Xander leans forward on his elbows. "That's what Ethan gets for playing around with people's lives." Anya pats his hand then takes a huge bite of her sandwich. "Geez, Ahn. I don't know how you can eat after what we saw at lunch."

"Why? I'm hungry."

Xander makes a face. "Because...brains? Because blood?"

Anya shrugs. "Looked like vengeance to me."

"But the robot hands? Sci-fi thriller, anyone?"

Buffy stares blankly at the couple. "Do I want to know?"

Xander watches Anya stir her to-go chili with a grimace. "You really don't. I'm thinking it was more of a police matter anyway. For once."

Willow nods. "Yes, and you know what they say. Don't go borrowing trouble, unless it's demon trouble."

"What's that from, Mother Goose?" Buffy asks wryly.

Tara smiles. "Mother Gorgon Goose, maybe."

"Huh?"

"Oh, um...a gorgon is...well, it really isn't that funny…"

"Want a sub sammich, Dawnster?" Xander calls over to the girl. "I'm not gonna have mine." Dawn raises and drops her shoulders sullenly. "There's salami," Xander coaxes.

Dawn wrinkles her nose. "Nah, I'm good." She takes up her window watching again.

"She seems...down." Xander mutters.

"Yeah, seeing some old lady break her neck will do that to you." Buffy lowers her voice. Dawn doesn't look over.

"Remember the days where life in Sunnydale was full of sunshine and young people? Now it's all snow and liver spots."

"Gross, Xand."

"I think it's sad," Tara says. "Dawn said that Patricia rolled off on purpose? I wonder if her medication was messing with her head. Sometimes that can happen."

Buffy slumps in her chair. "Actually, I think she had dementia. I never heard that lady say one word any of the times I visited Mom, but the nurses said she thought she was twenty or something."

Anya crunches a handful of crackers over her chili.

Buffy and Willow meet eyes in a random moment of shared intuition. Willow straightens. "An old lady who thought she was young? Ethan, a younger guy, turning old?"

"Coincidence?" Xander asks.

The Scoobies eye each other cynically. Dawn's paying attention to the conversation again. "You think she really was twenty-five?"

Buffy struggles to recall details about their mother's deceased roommate. "She might've been. I wish I'd taken a better look at her. Dawn," Buffy says with sudden energy. "Didn't you say Patricia showed you a tattoo before she-"

"Yeah!" Dawn joins them at the round table. "It looked like this." Dawn draws the slanting H symbol for them.

"The Hagalaz rune?" Tara peers at the symbol closely. Over her shoulder, Willow nods.

"It sure is."

"Translation?" Buffy demands.

Tara gestures for Willow to go ahead. Willow touches the drawing. "The Hagalaz rune signals crisis or radical change. I mean, runes can be applied in a lot of different ways in magic. So, it's hard to say why this lady would've had it tattooed on her hand." Willow frowns at Dawn. "Permanently tattooed?"

"I guess so."

Tara looks disturbed. "That's...intense."

Buffy spreads her hands, eyes bouncing between her two witchy friends. "Why?"

"I just wonder if she knew anything about the mystic arts...tattooing a rune on your own skin if you intend to wield magic. That's a pretty big deal."

Xander waves a hand. "Maybe she thought it looked cool."

"Maybe," Tara murmurs. "It's just, this Ethan Rayne, he does some big chaos-y magic that presumably ages him. All sorts of strange accidents are happening all over town to humans and demons. It's been _snowing_ here for months. And now a woman, also possibly prematurely aged, dies in a strange way while wearing the Hagalaz rune?" Tara notices all at once how everyone in the room has focused on her. She pinks.

Willow touches a hand to Tara's back. "I'm with Tara. I say we assume Patricia was a witchy sort for now." Willow moves away to sort through the magical texts. "We just need to brush up on Hagalaz, then we'll have a good lead to chase."

"Great." Buffy nods decisively. "This is great." Not her expertise, but good news at last. A step in the right direction. Research breakthroughs always lead to Buffy's personal favorite part: kicking ass and ending the problem.

Unbidden, her mind flashes to the fight in the woods with Spike at her side, spinning around her, having her back, an extension of herself.

The fall and the kiss and the look on his face. Surprised and curious and eager for more.

Something like that, shouldn't it feel more wrong? Because it didn't. Spike didn't feel wrong to her. He felt like a missing piece to herself.

Buffy props a book up in front of her to hide her face from the others. _Stop thinking like that,_ she tells herself. Being with Spike might not feel wrong now, but later...later...That's when things always go bad. Buffy can't let that happen.

"Here, Tara." Dawn's voice floats into Buffy's awareness. She glances over the top of her book to see Tara and Dawn gather up a couple bags of trash to take to the alley.

"Got it!" Willow says. "Hagalaz is a biggy. It's not a rune we often work with because the energies it governs are supposedly beyond human control. It has to do with fate…" Willow flips the page. "The balancing of power, destructive natural forces...and chaos."

"Well, that sounds like Ethan," Buffy groans. "Could he and Patricia have been in on this craziness together?"

"Maybe," Willow says. "Destructive natural forces. That could be why Sunnydale is experiencing such unusual weather. Messing with the balance of power and fate-energies could contribute to the accidents the snowglobes showed us."

"Why are you shaking your head?" Xander asks. "This sounds like what we're looking for, doesn't it?"

"I guess so," Willow says. "But I can't think of a single spell that would be powerful enough to encompass all the weird stuff that's been going on. A simple curse powered by the Hagalaz rune could make one person, I don't know, have really terrible luck for the duration of the curse. But it's almost like we're having bad luck everywhere in Sunnydale, all the time. All those accidents. Higher death rates than normal, even for this town! Things just going wrong. What did they do?" Willow's almost talking to herself now. "How did they do it?" Willow raises her voice. "Any thoughts? Tara?" She looks over her shoulder.

Anya points to the back door. "Tara and Dawn took out the trash. They've been outside for awhile now."

Buffy drops her book and searches the shop with anxious eyes. Why weren't they back yet?

* * *

"Thanks for helping Dawnie," Tara says as she drops the last trash bag in the Magic Box alleyway dumpster. Dawn shrugs.

"I needed some air."

Tara turns to her with a sympathetic expression. "Not a good day?"

Dawn hugs herself, compressing her puffy winter coat. The tip of her nose is already pink from the cold. "Whatever."

Tara reaches a hand out like she's going to touch Dawn's arm. Dawn scoots closer and into a hug. Tara doesn't ask her anything else or make her talk about it. Just holds her. Dawn relaxes and hooks her chin over Tara's shoulder.

After a moment, Dawn opens her eyes. It's nighttime and the alley isn't the best lit place in town so Cousin Its eyes really pop in the dark, glowing greenish and intense behind Tara's back. Dawn jumps back, yanking Tara with her with a gasp.

Aside from that first time with Buffy and Spike, Cousin It hasn't confronted Dawn when other people were around.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Tara asks. The older woman looks up and down the alley but they're alone. Something feels strange in the air. Dawn's face has gone white. She whispers:

"It's here."

Tara pulls at Dawn until the Magic Box's wall is to their backs. "Where?"

Dawn points. The air shimmers with strangeness. Goosebumps raise on Tara's skin. Something is there. Something only Dawn can see. "You have your protection key?"

Dawn nods.

"Then it can't touch you. Let's get Buffy-"

" _Dawn!"_ Tara jumps when a young girl's panicked voice shouts from an unseen source. Dawn stiffens. _"Help!"_

Dawn's face screws up. "Janice? Where are you?" An invisible presence seems to weight the air. "Where is she? Why are you using her voice?" Dawn's voice catches on a sob. "What did you do to her?"

" _NO!"_ Janice's voice echoes down the alley and Tara flinches. It sounds like a girl calling for help as she's dragged away.

Next to her, Dawn wavers, eyes fixed on something in the empty alley. "It's leaving. It's...Tara, hurry, we have to catch it!"

Tara grabs for Dawn. "No, Dawn! It's trying to lure you away. We need Buffy-Dawn!"

Dawn takes off down the street. Tara hesitates for only a moment before going after her.

* * *

When Buffy and the others burst into the alleyway, all they can find are two pairs of tracks in the snow heading towards the road.

Tracks that disappear in the mess of the main roads only a couple blocks later.

* * *

With night fully descended upon Sunnydale, Spike walks the streets without fear of immolation. He makes it halfway to Willy's before he remembers the joint's burned down.

Takes a while, but Spike makes the rounds until he finds another decent demon dive in which he can stomp the winter off. He feels far more sober than he wants to be. He'd planned on drinking the night away, sleeping it off in his crypt, and figuring out his next move come morning.

A little hole in the wall place called the Rusted Nail is Spike's new destination. He pushes into the demon bar, not expecting much. Willy's had been the place to go for a reason.

The door is difficult to open. Spike puts his shoulder to it and shoves. A quick inspection reveals a couple demon carcasses pushed up against the other side. Spike shrugs to himself and saunters in.

Behind the counter, a pig-faced demon with a large gash across his forehead jerks his chin at Spike. "We're closed for repairs."

"Sign's on," Spike says. He settles in at the bar and brushes off the spot in front of him. A fine layer of dust puffs up and drifts down again. "I'll have a whiskey, mate. Or better yet, give me the bottle and I'll be on my way."

Pig Face sweeps an arm behind him, indicating smashed bottles on broken shelves.

"Shit. Must've been some fight," Spike says, sorta sad he missed it.

"Fight?" Pig Face snorts. "Hardly. Slayer's handiwork. Can't wait for Willy to rebuild. I never had a problem with that bitch 'til tonight. She's looking for answers in places she ain't never come to before."

Spike grips the counter. "Slayer did this? What's got her in such a mood?"

"When isn't she in a hellacious mood?"

Spike starts to answer, then decides against it. He and Pig Face eye each other.

"Didn't catch your name, vampire."

"Didn't offer it," Spike replies snidely. No sense in advertising his traitor status. "What'd the Slayer want to know?"

Pig Face drops his arms below the counter, out of sight. On alert, Spike purposefully relaxes his shoulders even as his muscles coil for action. Ready for a fight.

"Slayer's looking for a girl. Her sister, sounds like. Didn't even know she had one." Pig Face rolls his thick beige tongue behind square teeth. "I'd say it was a bad move on her part to flash her family in our snouts, but I doubt anyone'll try the family angle with this one. Slayer was hellfire on wheels. I feel sorry for whatever slug took the little girly. Slayer's gonna roast 'em." Pig Face grips an ax under the counter and studies the vampire's stricken features. "You know something about it? Cuz if that slug is you, get the hell off my property. I can't abide anymore damage to this place. She already killed half my customers-bad for business. Insurance will only cover so much under act of god-"

Spittle flies from Pig Face's mouth when Spike grabs his throat and heaves his upper half over the counter. "You heard anything about this missing girl?"

"No!" Pig Face chokes. His gut is caught against the counter, trapping his hands.

"How long since the Slayer came through? How long!" Spike bends the bartender's neck back until nearly its breaking point.

"Hour...an hour…"

Spike releases him and furiously checks out the few other patrons left. One vamp, face furtive and frightened, trips over the demon carcasses on his way out the door. Spike gives chase.

Spike follows the vamp across the street, gaining on him quickly. With one flying leap, he takes the other vamp down.

"Where you goin' to in such a hurry, friend?" Spike bares his fangs at his catch.

The fallen vamp squeaks, hands over his head. "Don't kill me! I just saw it happen, I had nothing to do with it! I'm just trying to stay out of the Slayer's way!"

Spike shakes him. "What did you see?"

"That little girl, a-and that other lady, smelled like magic, they were heading towards the woods on the west end-"

"Did you tell the Slayer?"

"No! What, are you crazy? She would've dusted me for sure! She's completely lost it! I thought I'd be safe going somewhere she'd already busted up-"

Spike drops the vamp back to the ground, not bothering to dust him. He takes off for the western woods at full speed.

* * *

Heart hammering in her chest, Dawn fights her way through the snow. Each step is exhausting because she has to lift her legs out of nearly knee-high accumulated snow drifts to go forward. The going hadn't been so bad in the plowed streets, but they'd left those behind some time ago.

Her breath puffs in front of her. Cousin It blurs ahead, leading her deeper into the woods. Dawn can hear Tara behind her, calling her name. She can't stop or wait for the wicca to catch up. If she loses Cousin It, she loses Janice.

Dawn is positive that Cousin It has her friend. Dawn's going to get her back. No matter what.

At one point, Dawn fears she's lost the creature. Night is darker under the tree cover. She barely avoids running into obstacles. Dawn can't see the beast or the glowing eyes or anything at all really. But then she hears:

" _Dawn! Dawn!"_

Dawn lets herself be guided forward by Janice's scared voice. She makes a bunch of faces to break the ice formed by the tears running down her cheeks. It's so cold out here.

"Dawn, stop!" Tara's voice is getting fainter behind her. Can't wait. Can't wait.

Dawn breaks through the trees into a moon-bright clearing. Harsh breaths burn in her throat. "Where are you? J-Janice?"

Lumps of clothing are scattered around the clearing. Dawn wades closer through the snow on shaking legs. Jeans. Sweatshirts. Tennis shoes. Half covered by snow and dirt. Tons of clothes, full outfits left in piles. Kid's clothes. Teen clothes. Clothes Dawn would wear.

Janice's favorite sweater. Dawn picks it up with numb fingers, brushing off the frost. "Janice?" Dawn calls again, barely recognizing her own voice. She spins, eyes wild.

The creature glares at her, inches away. Glistening tusks part its hair. It circles her, drifting over the ground.

Fury warms Dawn's limbs. "Where. Is. My. Friend."

Cousin It bobs closer then away again. Dawn's never been so mad in her entire life. She steps up to the creature. The creature backs away. "That's right. You can't touch me. You have me here now, what do you want?" The thing is silent as ever. Maybe it couldn't talk. "Take me to Janice," Dawn demands, trying to infuse her sister's slay-girl tones into her voice.

Cousin It drifts back. Dawn's eyes track it. It stops over a pile of little boy clothing. There are Power Rangers posed on the lumpy shirt. Dawn creeps closer.

A tiny, skeletal frame fills the clothes.

A hand lands on Dawn's shoulder and she screams.

"Dawn!" Tara looks freaked. Her eyes sweep around the clearing, taking in the empty clothes, the emaciated remains. "Oh god. We have to get out of here."

Tara's runny nose, her ears and her cheeks are stained red from the cold. She's shaking. Dawn feels horrible for dragging the gentle girl out here.

"I'm sorry, Tara. But it has Janice, look!" Dawn shows Tara the sweater. "We can't leave her here!" Tara touches the frozen fabric and her face crumples.

"Dawnie...it's too late."

Dawn stares back, not comprehending.

Cousin It, suddenly much taller, much more menacing, rushes the girls. Dawn shrieks and jumps in front of Tara. "NO!"

Tara's eyes jump around the clearing. "It's here?"

"You can't have Tara!" Dawn puts herself firmly between the monster and the other girl. The long hairy body twists and writhes like an agitated snake. It feints to the right and Dawn stumbles in that direction. She feels a whoosh of displaced air as it pushes past her to Tara.

Tara is slammed onto her back so hard that she crunches into the snow like a cookie cutter. Dawn struggles to her feet, not able to see Tara resting in the hollow she created in the drifts. But Dawn can see Cousin It loom over the hole. A sucking sound and Tara's scream has Dawn charging the creature again.

Tara shudders in the snow. The creature is still invisible to her, but she senses a dark aura hovering over her and reaching for her with grasping black tendrils. Tara screams when the demonic energy latches on and starts to suck the life force right out of her.

Color leaches from Tara's surroundings. Her body begins to numb. A hard object digs into her hip and she barely has the presence of mind to dig out the switchblade Spike gifted to her months ago.

First white, then ash-grey, then soot-black: the world darkens. Demonic energy wraps around her, cocooning her completely. Tara whispers through icy lips, _"Lumina."_ Her hand squeezes around the handle and the blade springs forth.

In the clearing, Dawn shields her eyes as a thin beam of pure light pierces through Cousin Its hide. It rears back. Dawn rushes to Tara's side with a sob. The gentle witch is cold and white and deathly still. Tara's eyes aim unseeing past Dawn to the sky.

A gurgle warns Dawn of Cousin Its return.

She sees the blade in Tara's hand. Dawn pries the switchblade out of Tara's stiff fingers and faces the creature head on.

"Do it," Dawn hisses. "Come for her."

The creature sags, evidently hurt, and shuffles closer with a glare. Dawn plants her feet and tightens her hand around the knife. She waits. Cousin It hovers, obviously torn, glowing eyes sullen on Dawn.

In a stroke of genius, Dawn rips the protection key away from her neck and tosses the necklace down onto Tara's chest.

She can almost taste the beast's triumph in the air. Dawn's grotesque stalker attacks, as if in slow motion.

Dawn can't feel anything. Not cold, not fear, not indecision.

Cousin It lifts its tusks to reveal a gaping black hole behind its hair. Dawn feels the pull, its aim to devour. She sees the burnt injury Tara inflicted with her light in the middle of Cousin Its chest.

Right before the creature touches her, Dawn stabs the knife directly into the injury with all her might.

* * *

This is the scene Spike arrives to:

A clearing in the woods. Little Dawn kneeling in front of a hairy beast which is fountaining black blood all over her.

Tara, prone in the snow, her heart sluggishly beating.

Children's clothing scattered in a rough circle around them.

The lair of the beast. And Dawn, tears on her cheeks blazing clean trails through demonic blood. She looks up at him with huge eyes and says:

"Spike. I did it. It's done."


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Same as first chap. I own nothing. I updated three chapters in a row so if the last thing you read was Chapter 20, don't forget to back and get caught up. Thanks for reading!

* * *

Spike carries Tara. Dawn holds onto his elbow and lets him lead them out of the woods. She stares at the ground, focused only on walking through the snow.

They make it to the road before Dawn's coltish limbs fold under her.

"I'm sorry, Spike. I can't, I'm too tired. My legs won't work."

"S'okay, Bit." Spike scans the road for a car to flag down. Because it's not okay. Two humans in serious need of warmth and medical attention could not sit on the road at night forever. They had to get back to civilization.

He spots headlights swinging around the bend. "Stay with Glinda. That's right. Hold onto her and keep warm." Spike leaves the girls on the edge of the road and puts himself in the oncoming vehicle's path.

A squeal of tires and angry honking lets him know the driver sees him. Spike grins wolfishly.

* * *

Buffy paces around her living room, visibly stressing out the two on-duty police officers. "She didn't run away and Tara didn't kidnap her! This is a missing persons deal, plain and simple. Now are you gonna do something about it or what?"

"Quite frankly, Dawn and Tara are just two of dozens of missing persons we are dealing with. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but we have to focus on the cases that are older than a few hours."

Willow scowls at the uniforms. "So just go write up your reports back at the station and get out of here!" Tears prick at the witch's eyes. "What good are you people anyway?"

"Will," Xander says. He wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Thanks for coming by," he tells the overworked officers.

The policewoman with tired eyes clicks her pen shut. She addresses Xander, correctly identifying him as the most approachable of the Scoobies. "We'll give you a call if we find anything."

Out they go and Buffy slams the door behind them. She puts her hands to her face. Her knuckles are still bloody from the unsuccessful demon shake-downs she tried earlier. "Sunnydale's too big to search every square inch by ourselves. They could be anywhere!"

Willow wipes a hand under her nose. "I could try another locating spell." None of her attempts had been working. Magical interference, like TV static during a bad storm, kept messing with her results.

Buffy paces again. "Where's the map? Where haven't we tried? I could check the rest of the sewers. And the caves, I haven't tried those. Or...or…"

Anya silently spreads open the map over the coffee table. The huge unsearched sections seem to scream out to the tired Scoobies.

"God," Xander says. Buffy blearily looks at her friend, the lines around his mouth and eyes. "Let's everybody take a minute to calm down," he says. "We're not gonna find them if we're too busy panicking."

Buffy's heart swells in gratitude for Xander. Here he is at almost two in the morning and helping her, as usual, when Buffy knows he'll be up and working at his hard labor job before the crack of dawn. Buffy is stressed to the max, but she can't imagine doing this alone. She glares at the curtained windows. No help from SDPD at all. Rely on friends and neighbors, indeed.

The front door rattles, then slams open.

Spike sweeps in, Tara in his arms. The Scoobies part for him then surge back around the couch where he lays Tara down.

Willow gasps and flutters her hands over Tara's cold face and body. The gentle girl's chest barely rises and falls. "Tara! Oh no, get blankets, Xander!"

There's a flurry of activity as the Scoobies snap to what needs to be done. Too many crises under their belts not to know what to do.

Buffy grabs Spike's arm, locks eyes with him. This is the first time they've seen each other, touched each other, since the kiss. Buffy can't be bothered with such a small silly thing. She's so damn glad to see him. "Dawn," she croaks.

Spike catches her elbow. "In the car."

Buffy goes with him to the driveway where an unfamiliar blue sedan is parked crookedly. Dawn is in the front seat, wrapped in Spike's leather coat. Buffy literally rips the door open, leaving it dangling at an awkward angle and pulls her sister into her arms.

Dawn presses her freezing face into Buffy's neck and Buffy gets a whiff of something pungent and metallic. Blood, and not of the human variety.

Buffy notices an unconscious man in the back seat. She shoots Spike a questioning look. Spike moves to Dawn's other side. "He'll be fine, let's get her in."

They have to support nearly all of Dawn's weight to get her inside. Anya is there, cranking up the heat. "Wow. They both look awful."

"Found 'em in the woods," Spike says to Buffy. "Dawn killed the shit out of her beastie."

"What?" Buffy's certain she must have heard him wrong.

"That thing that's been huntin' our girl. Invisible stalker?" Spike tips his chin at Dawn where she's shivering under a mountain of blankets. "Nibblet fought it and won. Thing was dead before I got there. Think it did something to Glinda though."

Willow's passing her hands over Tara's body. "She's missing something. It took something from her." Willow's face darkens with outrage. She dumps her school bag upside down and sifts through the tangle of items for some opaque crystals. Xander watches Willow carefully place the crystals over key points on Tara's body. The clear stones fill with dark smoke and crack.

"Looks like you're gonna need more of those," Anya observes. "We can get more from the Magic Box."

Xander rubs Anya's shoulders. "I'll drive. Is any of this hospital worthy?"

"Only if they can't warm up," Willow says shakily. "I need to fix Tara's spiritual energy first."

Dawn speaks through numb lips. "Cousin It tried to eat her, like it ate all those other kids." Dawn raises shadowed eyes up to her sister. "Buffy. It ate Janice. It sucked her right out of her clothes and ate her up." More tears track down Dawn's face, but she stays relatively calm. Probably in shock.

Anya squints. "You mean, this thing ate the flesh or the spirit?"

"Spirit." Dawn doesn't sound like she's guessing. Buffy hugs herself and tries not to think of how close things must have been for her little sister to be so sure. "But the bodies were pretty much gone, too."

"Hmm." Anya looks thoughtful. "That sounds familiar. When you killed it-"

"Ahn, I think this can wait. We need to get those rocks for Tara."

Buffy's heart constricts at the look in Dawn's eyes. "Let's get you cleaned up, Dawnie."

Everyone has a job to do. Anya and Xander leave for more supplies. Willow settles in next to Tara on the living room couch. Buffy helps Dawn up the stairs and into a warm bath. She leaves Dawn to soak up the heat and runs back down the stairs to catch Spike right before he walks out the door.

"Spike!" He turns and frowns at her hand on his bare forearm. Buffy just grips tighter. "Where are you going?"

Spike's blue eyes pin hers. "Need to move that car before its driver wakes up. No reason for him to get a look at your house and get the wrong idea."

"Oh, right." Wait a minute. "How did he end up unconscious?" Buffy narrows her eyes at Spike.

Spike's mouth twitches. He sniffs and lifts his chin. "Fainted in fright," he says, sounding way too pleased with himself.

Buffy shakes her head. "I don't wanna know how you did that with the chip." She feels her face harden slightly. "I'm trusting you here, Spike." With so, so much. "Don't...don't mess that up for us."

The word 'us' lingers between them. Spike swallows and Buffy's eyes are drawn to the rise and fall of his throat.

"Not aimin' to. I'm trying…" Spike trails off, looking frustrated.

Buffy knows he's trying. She can hear Dawn's miserable sniffles echoing from the upstairs bathroom. She's just happy to hear her sister in the house again at all.

Spike shuffles his feet. "Better see to her, yeah? I'll take care of this car." Spike pulls away to leave. He goes back outside, leaving Buffy in the open doorway.

"Spike!"

Buffy doesn't think, just moves. Follows him to the porch, darts in front of him. "Wait," she says, voice hushed and strange. She crowds him back against the porch wall, next to the open door and reaches for him, thumbs sliding along either side of his jaw. Buffy gets an impression of Spike's widened blue eyes before she kisses him. Soft and, unlike before, intentional.

When Buffy breaks away, hands dropping to Spike's chest, he's holding her hips and looking at her like...like they're waking up out of a dream together and meeting for the first time. The shields hardening his face fall away and leave him looking so much younger. Boyish. Not so cocksure, none of the snark or indifference present.

 _Is this happening? This is going in, eyes wide open_.

Spike inhales quickly and leans in and they're kissing again. Strange and right. A pressing of lips, then apart- _are you really still with me?-_ then together again.

A teasing honk from a passing car registers but doesn't interrupt the flow of warmth between them. Willow's soft crying, audible through the open doorway, does.

Buffy pulls away, licking her lips.

Spike gazes at her, clear and captivated.

"Come back," Buffy says.

Spike whispers, as if unable to help himself: "Always."

* * *

After Spike drives off, night marches into day. Giles arrives, with pharmaceuticals and a journal to record Dawn's encounter. Dawn hunches under a quilt, dressed in the warmest pajamas she owns and describes the night's events in a flat voice, not looking at anyone. She retreats upstairs again as soon as possible, taking the brand new cold medicine with her.

No time to catch up with her Watcher, though. Giles joins Willow in trying to revive Tara. The girl has more color in her cheeks this morning, which is heartening, but she won't wake. Willow's going on twenty-four plus hours awake and stressed out and finally Xander insists they take Tara to the hospital for treatment so that Willow can get some rest. Giles agrees as there's nothing more they can do for Tara, magically speaking.

Xander drives Willow and Tara to the hospital while Anya and Giles confer on Dawn's description of her monster. Between the two, they narrow it down to the point where they are able to classify the creature.

"The Native Americans call it Apoatamkin," Anya says to Buffy and Dawn, over sandwiches and soup in the Summers' kitchen. Sunlight streams through the frosted windows, melting the ice, bit by bit. Buffy leans her shoulder against Dawn's.

"What did it want with Dawn?"

"Probably to eat her," Anya says. "As it obviously did with the others." Dawn stares at her untouched plate of food, face closed and hard. She pops another cough drop and crunches it right away.

Giles picks up the thread of conversation. "The story of the Apoatamkin is usually told in the style of the boogey man, as a means to scare children into staying close to their parents. As with many legends, this warning is based on a very true concern: that this creature will take advantage of a child left or wandering alone to steal them away."

Buffy blanches. "So, because Dawn was alone so much-"

"We can't be sure," Giles says, patting her hand. "After all, did it not first appear while Dawn was in your and Spike's company?"

"Yeah, it did," Dawn says. She picks at her sandwich.

Buffy drops her head. "Dawnie, I'm sorry. Either way, I've left you alone too much. I shouldn't have, and...I'm just sorry."

Dawn shrugs. "I'm a teenager Buffy. I don't need constant supervision. It's okay." Dawn flicks Buffy a look from under her lashes. "I don't blame you."

Anya speaks around a mouthful of turkey and cheese. "I think the creature must have been unusually successful to try for Dawn. Like it felt unstoppable." She licks a dollop of mayo off her thumb.

Giles consults his notepad, glasses slipping down his nose in a comforting librarian-ish way. "Local to northwest North American territory." Giles flops his notes to the table. "Here in Sunnydale, presumably as a result of migration."

Buffy groans. "We have our own monsters! We don't need everyone else's."

Giles sighs. "I'll make some calls. Perhaps there is precedence-some kind of demon pilgrimage…"

Buffy twists her fingers together. "This is too much, Giles."

"I agree. I think we have been battling the symptoms of a far larger problem. There must be a pattern in this madness. Tomorrow, perhaps, those who are able can meet at the Magic Box to try and find a link."

"I'm going back to bed," Dawn announces. She pushes away from the table and leaves her plate.

Buffy isn't going to bother her sister over chores on a day like today. She takes care of the dishes and indicates to Giles that she's going up, too. Giles nods, still flipping through his journal.

Upstairs, Buffy softly opens Dawn's door. "Hey Dawnie."

Dawn's tired eyes peep over the swaddle of blankets she's burrowed under. Buffy crawls in bed with her sister and hides with her under the blankets.

They lay, shoulder to shoulder, and stare at the ceiling. There's a crack up there that kind of looks like Massachusetts.

"I'm sorry about Janice," Buffy says.

"You didn't even like her." Dawn's voice is low and sullen. She leans her head against Buffy's arm. Buffy presses her cheek against Dawn's sweet smelling hair.

"I'm sorry you lost your friend."

Buffy feels moisture soak into her shirt. Dawn, quietly crying. "Me too."

Buffy lets the silence hold and Dawn eventually speaks again. "I think I knew this whole time she was dead. I just didn't want to believe it."

Buffy grasps Dawn's hand under the covers. Her sister clings on. "I know, sweetie."

Dawn squeezes Buffy's fingers to the point where it would've hurt a regular person. "I miss Mom."

Inadequacy swells within Buffy and she whispers back, "Me too."

Sometime later, after Dawn has fallen into an exhausted sleep, Buffy hears the kitchen door and the stamping of feet.

 _Spike_ , Buffy intuits before she even feels the tell-tale shiver at the nape of her neck. She scoots out of bed and pads downstairs.

Anya waves to Buffy from the dining room table. All of their household mail has been organized into neat piles. A pang of affection causes Buffy to detour around the table and she leans down to hug Anya, surprising both women.

"What are you doing?" Anya sounds perplexed.

"Thanks for doing this, Anya." Buffy steps back, feeling odd. Why had she done that? She normally isn't a big hugger.

Anya half smiles, eyes studying Buffy like she's a newly discovered organism. "Well...you're welcome. Your paperwork is a colossal mess. Also, you're behind on bills." She waves a few envelopes stamped with red print.

Oh, crap.

Giles' voice, intermingling with Spike's, is a happy distraction. "I guess I better get to that, um, later." Buffy points to the kitchen. "I'm gonna see what's going on."

Anya straightens. "I want to open these and see how much you owe." She pauses. "Do you mind?" Buffy can almost hear Xander's coaching behind the query. Buffy shrugs.

"Go for it."

Buffy enters the kitchen, heart speeding up at the sight of Spike back in her house. His face noticeably brightens when he sees her. Spike's holding a singed blanket and facing Giles, who turns in his chair to look at Buffy. Giles cradles a phone between his cheek and shoulder. "I'm on hold," he explains, with no little exasperation.

Must be Council then. Forcing Giles to jump through hoops, as usual. Giles addresses Spike. "In other words, I'll need you to lead me to the creature's lair in the woods. You're the best option, of the three of you who've seen it."

Spike's hair is ruffled up from the blanket. Buffy wants to go smooth it down. She clenches her hands and hides them behind her back. "Bit sunny for travel," Spike tells Giles.

"Yet, here you are."

Spike's eyes implore Buffy. She warms, thinking of what may have motivated him to risk coming to Revello at this time of day.

"Giles, how would he protect himself in the woods?"

Giles eyes the clock. Mid-afternoon, only a few hours until sundown. "Yes, of course. We'll go soon, though. You can cover yourself in my car. We'll search the woods the moment it's dark." Giles switches the phone to his other ear with a put-upon sigh. "The sooner we can anonymously tip the police to the location of the children's remains, the sooner their parents can get some measure of closure."

Oh, god. Buffy remembers Janice's mom, frantic in the grocery store. She remembers her own panic when Dawn disappeared. Sorrow clogs in Buffy's throat. Will this ever not hurt?

Spike drifts closer. "How's lil' sis doing?" He leans a hip against the counter, inches from Buffy. Buffy notices he's still missing his coat. She's glad he didn't fry under his blanket without the extra protection.

"You know, sick and sad."

"Sick?" Spike's elbow and clenched fist rest on the counter. Buffy stares at the silver rings around his lithe fingers, his battered knuckles, the flecks of black paint on his thumbnail. The desire to take his hand is a physical thing, filling her hand with thwarted kinetic energy.

"Yep, caught a cold. She was outside too long." Buffy peers up into Spike's face.

"Entirely too close," Giles says. Buffy and Spike jump apart a little. Buffy gulps, glancing nervously over her shoulder. Right, Giles is here. Her Watcher isn't looking at the pair by the counter. He's talking to the person on the other end of the phone. "All these events are unusual, even by our standards, and happening so frequently...Could this herald a much larger event?"

Spike shoves away from the counter, his magnetizing gaze tugging at Buffy, before he leaves the room. Buffy rubs her damp palms on her thighs and starts to follow him, only to be stopped by Giles' raised finger. "A moment, Buffy. Your input may be required…"

Spike, hearing this, detours upstairs instead. He taps on Dawn's door and pokes his head into her room. Dawn's surrounded by tissues and cough drop wrappers and other sickly bits and bobs. Spike wrinkles his nose. "'Lo Bit. Hear you're under the weather."

Dawn sniffles thickly. "What's that mean, anyway? How do you get under weather? Like, am I supposed to be under the snow?" She shivers. "Actually, it kind of feels that way."

Spike frowns and walks fully into the room. He circles the girly space with aimless steps that take him from Dawn's messy desk, around her bed, and over to a poster of Britney Spears. Spike scoffs at the blonde on the wall. Dawn smiles in spite of herself. "You're so easily offended."

"Am not," Spike insists. "Just wish you had a better taste in music. I'll give you some pointers. Tell you what, I'll lend you some tapes to listen to while you're resting up."

"Spike. I don't do cassette tapes."

"I'll boost some disks then."

Dawn grins. "They're called CD's, grandpa. And Buffy's gonna kick your butt if you steal."

"Oh. Right. Suppose she might."

Spike wanders over to a shelf on Dawn's wall lined with stuffed animals. He plucks up a stuffed duck and bounces it between his hands.

Dawn holds her arms out. "Give me Flapjack before you break him."

"He's full of fluff. Perfectly safe." Spike hands the ducky over anyway. What kind of sodding name is Flapjack for a duck? Irrational tiny human.

Dawn hugs her old favorite and eyes the poster. "I went to that Britney concert with Janice's family."

Spike nabs a sparkly pen with a giant pink feather sticking out the end. Dawn's room would seem like an alternate dimension to him if he hadn't spent time with Harmony and her inane frillies.

"Spike. Stop messing with my stuff. Aren't you gonna sit down and tell me it's gonna be okay? That's why you came up here, isn't it?"

Spike enjoys Dawn's directness. She isn't some child with an underdeveloped brain. But she still has a certain streamlined way of thinking that Spike can appreciate. "What good would that do? You're the one that decides when it'll be okay again. Just wanted to see you. Barely could last night, under all that muck."

Dawn waves Flapjack's fluffless arms at Spike. "You mean under all that blood."

Spike regards her, head tipped to the side. "Did the blood bother you?"

"No," Dawn says quickly.

"It's a pity, 'bout yer friend," Spike says. "But you finished things. Don't regret that."

Dawn scrunches her brow. "I don't."

"Good," Spike says. He leans against her dresser. "Was a beast that killed one of your own, that was coming after you, and you stopped it. You know that it's gone, because you made certain with your own hands. You know it won't be going after any other little girls either."

Dawn looks very small in her pile of blankets. "Yeah. I guess that's true."

Spike nods. "Best way to end things. You don't have to wonder, don't have to fear."

"I'm not afraid anymore. I haven't been. I...I feel great. I was really happy when…" Dawn glances up solemnly. "When I killed it. I was so happy."

"Battle joy," Spike nods. "Happens to everyone. Kill or be killed and you survived, ended the threat to your life. Course you're happy. S'a basic moment of celebration." Spike grins at her. "You'll really have a reason to observe your birthday this year."

Dawn lets loose a shaky breath. "You always know what to say." She sounds relieved.

"You talk to big sis about this? She's really the expert."

"I didn't want to worry her. I killed something. I shouldn't be so thrilled. I mean, what's wrong with me?"

Spike snorts. "Nothing."

"Says you. You're a vampire."

Spike rolls his eyes. "Listen up, Pidge, Buffy is a prime example of jubilant warrior. She jokes and laughs her way through patrol most nights. Loves the chase, the battle. She'd get it. She does it all the bloody time."

"But she's the Slayer. That's her job."

"An' you defended yourself. Even by human law you've got nothing to worry about."

Dawn looks thoughtful.

"Talk to her," Spike advises.

"Spike?" Giles' voice calls from below. The vamp in question groans.

"Off we go then."

Dawn sits bolt upright. "You're coming back, right?"

Spike quirks his mouth. "You know it."

* * *

When Spike returns, an hour or so after dark, the house has emptied to just the Summers girls. Buffy's pulling her boots on when Spike walks in. She looks up. "All good?"

"Loaded question, love. Let a fellow get situated before throwin' out those sorts of existential debates."

Stress increases at the corners of Buffy's eyes. "Not exactly what I meant."

 _Shit,_ Spike thinks.

They eye each other warily. Spike throws himself down next to Buffy on the couch. "I'm an idiot, don't listen to me."

"Yeah, why do you bother talking again?" Buffy grumbles, tightening her boot laces.

Spike hazards a grin. "Maybe in hopes you'll answer." Buffy flicks him a look. "Where you heading off to?"

"Patrol."

"What for? It's dead out there. You really put the fear of a higher power in the demon community last night."

Buffy blinks. "I did?"

"Trust me."

Quiet falls over them. Buffy's hands hang loose between her knees. "Guess I'll stay home then."

"Guess you better." Spike's eyes skim over her face. Buffy holds her breath.

"Buffy?" Dawn's voice floats down. "Can you bring up that night cold medicine? I can't sleep." They hear Dawn coughing wetly.

Buffy exhales gustily and scoots away. "I need to…"

"Yeah. Right. I'll just be in the basement then."

"Okay."

Spike remembers that he tore all the bed coverings off. He hasn't actually been to the basement since he took his stuff and left. "Ah, d'you have some more sheets and things?"

Buffy stands and flaps her hand at him. "Oh, you're all set!" She makes a beeline for the stairs. "Night, Spike."

Spike frowns. Slayer's flustered over something. "Night." He watches her little bum twitch back and forth all the way up. A smile curves his mouth. As frustrating and confusing as being here is to Spike, he finds he doesn't mind so much.

Spike stands, a slow stretch, and deeply inhales the scents of home: Dawn and Buffy and Joyce, fainter but ever-lingering.


	24. Chapter 24

Spike settles back into the basement, lighting candles and trying not to think about the Slayer and her hot mouth all over his several hours ago. Fuck. This hot and cold thing might drive him around the bend sooner rather than later.

A half dozen candles later and Spike realizes that his bed has been neatly made.

He stares at the clean lines of linen, the artfully tucked pillowcase. Someone's made his bed. With care. Buffy?

Spike can't wrap his head around this girl.

He wants her. Spike wants to go up the two flights of stairs, throw open her bedroom door and take her until they're both completely wrung.

Or she could take him. That little shove up against the porch wall? Makes Spike think Buffy might like to be the dominant one. Spike swallows, mouth dry at the very thought.

Thing is, he doesn't know at all how to proceed. When's the last time he really pursued a woman? His human days? Dru snagged him, Spike had little to do with that. Other than her, and his human interests-better left unmentioned-there's been no one Spike's truly wanted.

Spike wants the Slayer, but he can't fuck it up. Must keep his distance, lest he ruin his chances forever. But for how long? Agonizing. He wants her, she wants him. Why aren't they in each other's arms right this moment? Makes no bleeding sense. Spike drifts closer to the bed, then away, not wanting to muss the covers. Careful creaking steps sound above his head. He listens. All goes quiet.

For once, Spike is not looking forward to more trouble. He's ready for a breather. That better not be an intruder up there-

The basement door cracks open and the Slayer's there, inching in and shutting it firmly behind her.

Buffy grips the doorknob behind her back, keeping to shadows. Spike finds himself at the bottom of the steps without any memory of movement. Buffy deliberately descends, the dim glow of candles painting her face with soft shades of golden light.

"Hi," Buffy says on a quiet exhale. There's a shy, playful look about her. Head ducked down, eyeing him coquettishly like she is just a girl and he, some fellow she fancies. But behind her curious expression, behind the little hair clip and flimsy hoodie and shiny lip gloss, something vast and hungry lurks.

Everything in Spike sits up and takes notice.

"Forget something?" Spike's voice sounds muted to his own ears. Maybe the space between them has grown too thick for proper communication. Buffy steps forward, off the stairs, and closer. Another step. Slayer shakes her head slowly, eyes fixed on him. His skin burns under her gaze.

Spike's feeling distinctly hunted. Slayer unzips her hoodie and lets it drop around her feet. She edges closer still.

Nerve endings jangling, Spike tries to memorize the way she looks right this second. How many hours has he studied slayers? Studied her? Strength cloaked in a delicate package. She stalks the night, same as he, looking soft and fragile. But she's power incarnate. Top of the supernatural food chain. Now she's after him. Spike's been her focus before, but this is different.

Heat flickers in the pit of his belly. A flash of pink tongue wetting her lips winds Spike up tighter. Buffy looks past him. "You're still awake." The bed hasn't been touched.

"Tryna figure this out." Spike doesn't know what he's saying. He doesn't dare take his eyes off her.

Buffy steps into his personal bubble. Touching would be better than this. This caressing of awareness. Her space engulfing his. "I made your bed."

"Thought you said you'd never be doin' that."

Blood rushes through the Slayer faster at his words. Cheeks pink, her fragrant desire reaches him, making his mouth water. The remaining inches between them are a yawning pit. They balance on the edge of its abyss, contemplating the free fall. Spike loves the thought of leaping into this dark, weightless space.

Anticipation makes it sweeter.

"I didn't want you to leave," Buffy whispers. "The other night. Took me by surprise."

"Didn't feel right, being gone." Spike pointedly looks at the sweater on the floor, then back to Buffy. "You planning on staying?"

Buffy's lips part. Eyes dark on his, breath coming quick, she asks, quiet and fierce, "Are you?"

Spike can't imagine any place he'd rather be. "Hell yeah."

Shyness melting away, the primal hunger surfaces in Buffy's face, dominating her features the way it does on the hunt. "Hell yeah."

Buffy closes the distance, surging up into him. He wraps her up in his arms, but she's the one pushing them back towards the bed. In a way, it's just like fighting her. Grabbing hold of the girl is like trying to hold onto a live wire. She burns and writhes in his embrace. Spike's just holding on at first. Buffy kisses him and breathes life into his every cell. Newly animated, Spike's focus zeroes in on her warm mouth on his, her hands sliding over his body.

Buffy's obviously all for getting down to business but Spike keeps getting distracted. Her hair is so soft. He cards his fingers through the golden tresses, releasing the clip and following her hair as it bounces around her shoulders. Then he wants to press his hand against her hair and feel her body heat through all that lovely softness. Against her back, her shoulders, her throat.

Her throat! Spike detours again, barely registering Buffy's anxious hands on his pants, fumbling with his fly. Spike noses her neck, inhaling the concentration of scents there. All he can hear is the _whoosh, whoosh_ of her blood, rushing to get somewhere, and baby, baby slow down, don't you know it's a cycle? Get to the end, you start at the beginning. No hurry.

Buttons ping off the floor when Buffy gets impatient and rips the front of his pants apart. The savage move startles a growl from him and Buffy's hands hold him back the way they always do. Straining in every sense of the word, Spike pulls back to see her face. Buffy's panting shamelessly, eyes half-mast. "Come on!" she gasps. "God, shouldn't this just…" Her hands tremble as they tug on his shirt. He helps her. "I want, I want, I want," Buffy chants. Yeah, yeah he gets it. Shirt finally off, Spike yanks at Buffy's clothes. Her urgency spurs him on.

"Let me-" Spike says. She's barely taking the time to undress, so desperate is she to come together.

They fall sideways together on the bed in a tangle. Buffy climbs on top of him, legs flying out at sharp angles, hands hooking under his arms trying to pull him-yeah ok scooting back up the bed. Spike's back hits the wall, that's good, sitting up and kissing is good. Then her knees trap his hips, straddling him, and they gasp against each other's mouth when the move slots her perfectly against his cock.

The small part of Spike that has been frozen in a healthy disbelief quits caring about the possible dangers of fondling the Slayer the way he wants to. Spike adjusts her the way he desires in his lap. Little scrap of cloth still in the way, Spike tears off her panties and positions himself, then Buffy gasps harshly, hands like steel on his shoulders as they sink into each other.

All at once, things slow down to nearly a stop. Buffy's green eyes catch his and she bears down with muscle control that nearly brings Spike off embarrassingly prematurely.

Inside her. Spike is inside the Slayer. Part of his brain melts at the impossible turn of events and his body awakens in a way it never has before. To be this close and not trying to kill each other. No, instead this is devouring. Buffy presses her forehead to his and lifts herself up and down, setting the pace. Spike's hands roam over her, memorizing the feel of her. Painting her image in his memory forever by way of touch.

"Oh!" Buffy says. "Oh, oh, oh…" Does she know she's making those sounds? Spike's hand finds her hair again and pulls her head back until there's distance enough to comfortably study her face as she crests and drops in his lap. Push and pull. Her pulse flutters madly in her throat. Spike puts his lips to the vein and tastes her without breaking the skin. He grips her with blunt teeth. Buffy jerks and groans, writhing frantically, and with a deep sweeping shudder it's over. They collapse down on the bed.

Slick at every point they touch, Spike shifts her around, just because he likes the way that feels. Buffy whimpers, "Spike," and they both shiver. Yes, he Spike. She Buffy. And they just, they just...Spike rolls them, elbows propping him up, forearms framing her flushed face. He stares down intently. Buffy's chest rises and falls, not calming, still worked up.

"Ah, Slayer," Spike murmurs, fingertips stroking the damp hair at her temples. "Sweet thing, gorgeous girl." Delight curls in him at the changes his words create in her eyes.

"Stop," she whispers, blushing. "You don't have to-This just, oh god…"

Spike kisses her, deep and slow and thorough. Buffy's legs wrap around his waist drawing him down closer again. Easy as anything, he nudges into her once more. Rolling his hips, Spike watches the pleasure flutter over her face. To be with her. Her! Buffy, Buffy. Her hands slide along his arms, corded with working muscle, working on her.

If the first time was an explosion, a careening wreckage of colliding bodies, this time is all about collaboration. They feel each other out, the yes's and no's, the to and fro. Bodies working together, climbing together, shattering together.

"Am I dreaming?" Spike asks, at one point.

"No," Buffy says, astride him again. Her hands lock his down to the bed. She nips his collarbone. Spike's hips jerk up in reaction. "I snuck down here. I wanted you." Her eyes hold his, the hypnotic lull of the night dazing both of them. "Do you dream about me, Spike?"

"Since the moment I laid eyes on you," Spike admits freely. Good dreams, bad dreams, bloody dreams, tentative dreams. Waking dreams. Never when sleeping. Just his imagination starring the Slayer, in all the many forms she's taken in his existence. Spike wants to tell her all about it. He wants to tell her everything he's ever thought. He wants to hear what she thinks about every subject under the sun. He wants, wants, wants.

Spike holds her through another cresting orgasm. The last lit candle gutters and dies. Then it's all by touch and that's not bad either. The night draws long and lean and warm and wet. Spike spins and falls, free with Buffy.

* * *

Buffy gathers her thoughts in the bluish pre-morning light of the basement. Her cheek rests against Spike's cool chest.

She tries not to panic.

Buffy's been living in a constant state of worry over the future for so long that the sudden nowness of this morning and last night shocks her into a different kind of awareness.

A delicious, terrifying awareness. Whatever had been building between her and Spike these last weeks just changed forever.

Buffy has no idea what could possibly happen next. She's still blissed out enough that regrets and recriminations haven't come over her yet. Maybe they never will . Hell, that was all her last night.

Want, take, have.

Well, she's had him. Now what? Buffy used to be so much more on top of this stuff. Stuff like seeing the obvious flaws in Faith's motto-the missing next step.

Also, the not sleeping with her kind of ex-enemy. Yep. Younger Buffy...would have been...on top of that-

Buffy's brain makes a nonsensical detour as she sits up and her eyes are drawn to Spike's very yummy chest and abs and down to where the blankets bunch at his waist…

He shifts and Buffy's eyes snap up to his face-awake now, one hand behind his head, smirking.

Buffy snatches up the sheet to her chest as heat blooms in her cheeks.

Well. She'd slept with the bad boy. What did she expect? This is only the second morning after she's had with someone in bed. And compared to Riley? Night and day. Buffy is flummoxed by Spike's lack of shyness, the pleased knowing look in his eye.

Stupid, indecent vampire. Oh god. There's the panic.

Spike shoots up. He goes from horizontal to in-her-face in an instant. An undeniably supernatural-quick movement that automatically gets Buffy's heart pounding

"Mmm," Spike vocalizes deep in his throat. He noses her hot cheek, inhaling. His proximity sparks not unpleasantly against Buffy's skin. "You smell fantastic."

Buffy clears her throat. "Fantastic like, I like your perfume? Or like, boy do I want breakfast?"

Spike huffs a laugh. He pulls back just enough to look her in the eye. Their noses brush. "Like you. Smell. Fantastic."

She narrows her eyes at him. He smiles in a way that reveals the gleaming blunt edges of his teeth. "You and your lovely rushing blood can smell good without it making me hungry, in an eating sense-"

"Oh, god. Stop everything you're saying."

"Come on, you asked."

"Spike!"

His eyes widen and instead of naughty, Spike's expression turns artless, excited. "Oh, I like how you said my name just now. All breathless and girly and put out-"

"This is crazy," Buffy mutters.

Spike glances sideways at her. "Fine line between crazy and genius." He touches her hair. "Sort of thought this was more of a thank you. For bringing her home."

Buffy holds his gaze. Side by side they stare at each other, silently feeling one another out. She reaches up to hold the hand fingering the ends of her hair.

"It wasn't just a thank you." The words hang in the air between them. "What?" Buffy keeps her voice a whisper, mindful of the quiet house.

"So…" Spike's voice trails off questioningly.

"Now what?" Buffy guesses.

Spike holds out one hand. "Get out you evil demon before I annihilate you?" He presents the other hand. "Get back here, you sexy beast. We have all day before we're needed elsewhere?" Both hands, he raises up and down like a measuring scale.

Buffy's face scrunches with the effort of not laughing.

"See that face you're making? While memorable," Spike grins. "Still confusing. You're difficult to read right now. Been difficult to read lately."

Buffy pouts. "I'm not a book."

Spike lowers his lashes. He props his chin on her shoulder, to whisper directly in her ear. "If you were, I'd run my fingers down your spine, spread you open and analyze you, nice and deep-"

Buffy shoves him away with squeak. "What are you-what is that? Book porn? Cut it out!"

Spike laughs.

Wow, does he look pretty with his face all lit up like that-Buffy shakes her head at herself sternly. She smacks a hand over Spike's too-loud mouth and raises her eyes nervously to the ceiling.

No other sounds than that of the settling house.

Buffy jumps when Spike's hand squeezes her bare thigh under the blanket.

Glaring at him, Buffy lets her hand drop.

"Still sleeping," Spike says earnestly. He nudges her, face boyish.

"No. I need to get ready," Buffy protests, unsure that doing as she wants to is at all a good idea. "Scooby meeting. Extreme emergency stuff happening."

"Yet, you seem so relaxed," Spike observes mock-thoughtfully.

"Don't fish for compliments."

Spike's face breaks open into another genuinely pleased expression. Buffy's becoming partial to that expression, paired with his wild sex hair.

"Sweetheart, the fact that you're relaxed at all right now is compliment enough."

Buffy goes a little gooey in the middle at the endearment.

 _Mustn't show it_ , her inner Giles advises.

Uh oh. Giles is going to have a cow. A giant, Hellmouth-y, demon cow.

While Buffy struggles with the possibility, Spike leans in and places his open mouth against the crook of her neck and laves his tongue over her skin.

Buffy squirms as his hands slide up her sides then cup her breasts. She can feel his smile around the hot, wet...whatever he was doing to her neck.

"Did you hear...the no...that I just said?" Buffy asks more throatily than intended.

"Mmhmm."

Pleasant, non-thinky moments pass.

"Wait," Buffy says from under him, the twisted sheets their only barrier. Her legs unwind from his waist. Spike raises his head. The unwavering intensity in his eyes almost knocks the rest of Buffy's protest out of her head.

Water rushes through the pipes upstairs. Dawn. Shower. Last chance to escape with her dignity intact. Buffy puts her hands against Spike's chest.

"Could lock the door," Spike whispers, devil in her ear.

It's hard not to be flattered by...everything about him right now. Buffy swallows. "No lock, need to go."

Spike looks pained. He presses his face to her collarbone, then lower.

Buffy loses track of a bit more time. The shower shutting off overhead snaps her out of it again.

"Spike."

He pulls away from her breast, mouth wet from his ministrations. Buffy whimpers and bucks up.

Almost better, going slower in the brighter room. That much more to feel and see.

Spike groans and rocks his hips into her. Buffy's legs clamp his sides like a vice.

"She's awake, we have to stop. This is so...so not the time…"

"Shit. We could do it quick-like. Bloody torture, this is." He pants against her cheek.

Buffy grips his hair to pull him away but it becomes part of their embrace. They move together, sheet still in the way, slow and good.

Pitter patter of steps on the stairs. Then in the living room.

"Buffy?" Dawn's voice calls overhead.

Buffy gasps and throws Spike off. She casts around for her clothes in a panic.

"Crap! Bad Buffy, how irresponsible…? Ohmigod she cannot see this!" Clothes mostly in place, Buffy grabs up Spike's jeans and thrusts them in his face.

Spike gives her a glassy-eyed stare. "You think I'm tucking into those, think again."

Buffy's eyes drop to his lap then zoom back to his face. "I'll uh, distract her. Get decent."

Spike scrubs both hands over his face. "Impossible."

"You can say that again," Buffy mutters. She starts for the stairs. Buffy can hear Dawn in the kitchen opening the fridge.

Hands grab her hips and yank her back to the cot. Buffy sprawls awkwardly, fully clothed, to straddle Spike. Glorious, naked Spike.

Buffy scowls and braces her hands against his shoulders, on her way to actually pissed off. "Okay, what part of this are you not understanding-"

Spike mirrors her pose but straight-armed, with his wrists locked behind her head. "You invited me in. To stay." His eyes are intense.

Buffy pauses, hyper aware of Dawn only a set of stairs and one closed door away from the scene. "I did."

"No forgetting."

"God, _how could I?_ "

Spike grins, lazy and heated. He kisses her and then she's kissing him back.

When Buffy notices her and Spike's heavy breathing, she realizes it's because things are quiet upstairs. She pulls away, memorizing the way he looks in this moment.

No telling how things will go from here.

Buffy feels Spike's eyes on her all the way up the stairs.

Buffy carefully shuts the door behind her. She pads barefoot through the empty kitchen and jumps when she sees Dawn staring at her from the living room couch.

Dawn's face is blank. "I didn't know you were home," she says.

Guilt swells in Buffy's throat. "I just got in."

The sisters go quiet. Dawn wrinkles her brow. "Were you wrestling demons all night? Your clothes are all messed up."

"No! I-I mean, yes. Slayer here. Just got done doing my sacred duty."

Is that her mouth saying those words? Buffy gulps, wide-eyed. "I'm gonna shower and change and then we can go to the Magic Box."

Dawn perks up. "We?"

Buffy had meant Spike and herself, but now that Dawn mentions it…

"Yes. We." Buffy nods firmly. "I think it's about time you started pulling your research weight, don't you?"

The sparking excitement in Dawn's face makes Buffy feel small and big all at once. "Really? Ohmigod! Thank you!" She grabs Buffy up in a huge hug.

Buffy tries not to get misty over it. "Yeah, well. You've earned it. If you're gonna be putting down demons, I want you to know how to do it right."

"Slaying?"

"Oh no. Research purposes only. Maybe with self-defense applications."

"Sweet!" Dawn spins and clambers up the stairs.

Alone in the living room, Buffy looks over her shoulder towards the basement door. She bites her lip.

The door stays closed. Buffy hurries up after her sister.


End file.
